


This Is A Gift

by TardisInWonderland



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Apprentice!Belle, F/M, Warning: Torture, Work In Progress, oh and clerics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 48,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisInWonderland/pseuds/TardisInWonderland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>This is a gift, it comes with a price.</i> Belle wasn't cast out because she went with Rumpelstiltskin, she went to Rumpelstiltskin <i>because</i> she was cast out. Your greatest blessing can also be your greatest curse...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Running

**Author's Note:**

> So... the title may or may not the the result of having "Rabbit Heart" stuck in my head for a solid forty-eight hours.

She could hear the hoof beats now, pounding along the road. They would be on top of her in seconds, using their magic to track her every move. She’d lost her horse three days ago, taken by bandits when they found she had nothing else of value, and the time spent on foot had allowed them to catch up. The only hope of surviving this was the dense forest that bordered either side of the road, and the thick undergrowth of weeds and briars that provided enough shelter for her to hide.

_Did you sell your soul for the powers of darkness?  
No. _

Her sides ached from running, and her breathing was ragged. Her heart was in her throat, pounding like a war drum in her ears, louder than the gallops and whinnies from the horses, louder than the cries from the cleric’s hunting party. The world was beginning to spin, and she prayed- _prayed_ \- that they wouldn’t find her. If they did, she would be tortured and killed.

_How long have you been able to perform acts of magic?  
Longer than I can remember. _

She saw them come to the castle. They had been residing there for weeks, monitoring her, biding their time until they came to a conclusion. It wasn’t her fault- they didn’t understand. Even Papa couldn’t understand. She didn’t have a choice, she couldn’t control it; everything that happened was a wild stretch of her subconscious mind. Most of the time her rational mind could keep things in check, but strong emotions like anger, or love, or even fear made things go awry very quickly.

_How does it work?  
I don’t know. _

The clerics thought she was some kind of demon bestowed with magic beyond their control, but they just didn’t like the fact that a nineteen year old girl was more powerful than they were. And, bookish and blunt as she was, this nineteen year old girl was an easy target for initiation… or execution. 

_Will you join the order and allow the clerics to dispel your demons?  
I have no demons. _

With the clerics it was really the same thing. “Execution” was a blessing in some ways. It meant “You are a nuisance to us, but nothing more. You will die swiftly, free of torment, and your home and family will remain unharmed.” “Exile” meant giving you permission to run for your life while the clerics chased you down like a rabid dog. “Exile” meant that they needed you for something and didn’t want your family in the way, most likely initiation into the order. “Exile” was also code for “Should you try to stay, we will burn your home and kill your family while you watch, and then we will take you anyways.” Then they would take you to be initiated once they caught you. Legend said that if you got away, your family was safe. Then again, Belle knew of no one that had ever gotten that far.

_Isabella French, you are hereby exiled, and sentenced to death should you ever return._  
Does that mean I’m supposed to run now?  
Yes. 

Everyone knew the stories about initiation into the order. The clerics all wore yellow robes trimmed with black around the edges, massive hoods pulled low over their faces. No one ever saw a clerics face, though some said that you would see their eyes only if they were about to bring down their sword across your neck. They said that when you were initiated, you received beatings, were broken into something that was no longer yourself, and conditioned to serve some strange magical master.

_I love you, Belle._  
I love you, too, Papa.  
Run. 

Belle got up, scrambling through the trees as fast as she could. Branches whipped her face and roots reached out for her feet, snagging her dress and pulling her to the ground, hands and knees stinging. She ran until she thought she couldn’t run any farther, until she was certain she was going to die by the hands of those glorified mercenaries in yellow cloaks, under the laws of some order of magic that only they knew the true extent of.

And then, quite suddenly, she noticed that the hoof beats had stopped. Her rational mind told her to keep going, keep running, but something else told her to stop and look back. The lanterns were still visible from the cleric’s hunting party, but they were no longer moving towards her. Something had made them stop, but she could figure out what it was.

Belle had lost her map along with her horse, and it was the one item that she truly despaired being without. The clerics had power, true, but even their combined forces couldn’t come close to matching some of the great magical powers in the world- Maleficent, Queen Regina, Rumpelstiltskin, the Blue Fairy on a good day, and several others that had their own lands and boundaries. Most of the time their places of residence were not marked on a map, to avoid trouble from those who might have other intents than to simply deal with them, should someone be so foolish. The only explanation for the cleric’s departure was that she must have come close enough to one of the great powers that they thought it unwise to continue.

A hunting party of twenty clerics had just turned around in defeat, knowing that they were only yards away from their target. They only had to cross a short distance and retrieve her, only had to snatch her back, turn, and run for their monastery.

Whoever controlled these lands must have been powerful indeed, to make a group like that turn away.

The good news was that Belle was probably safe for now, under the shelter of whatever crushing darkness or blinding light inhabited these lands.  
The bad news was that she was alone, weak, lost, and at the _mercy_ of whoever was controlling that power. And if they were powerful enough to run off a group of angry clerics on the verge of a kill, they were more than powerful enough to locate and dispose of a slight, bookish girl with no real control over her magic.

Yes, she was in deep this time. 

X

Belle spent another night in the forest. She’d taken to rolling herself in her cloak and tucking underneath piles of leaves or into briar thickets. The shades of green in the cloak made it fairly easy to disguise herself, but she never slept well. Every noise woke her, and she rose again with the moon to walk along the forest path.

The clerics had given chase as soon as she stepped out the palace doors, and the only advantage Belle had was knowing the roads. She had taken the fastest route out of the city, towards the mountains, and the road ahead of her clearly went into the foothills. The moon was full tonight, meaning she would have at least a week or two of good travel by night before she would need a lamp or have to travel by day, or at any rate a _map_ would soon become a necessity.

Traveling by night was a good way to make time- it cut down on traffic, and more importantly, it cut down on questions that might be asked of a girl traveling alone in a tattered green cloak and a dirty blue dress. She hoped the town would at least have someone willing to give her some information. Belle didn’t have any money and had been scavenging for food for the past few days, but it would be good to know where she was. Maybe after that she could look for work- it might be a good idea to stay here for a while if the clerics were afraid to cross into these lands. Being well inside their borders would give her time to figure out something more long-term… preferably something that involved either getting rid of or learning to use her magic.

The sun rose, painting the sky orange and pink, and Belle saw that the town looked to be mostly asleep. Strange. Small village residents usually rose with the sun, but perhaps this was a different place than what she was used to. The only person in the entire square, which should have had at least a few wives sweeping the stoops or children going to get water, was an old woman standing by the well, bucket in hand.

Belle walked over to her slowly, letting down the hood of her cloak. The woman was obviously in pain as she moved, joints still stiff from sleep. Her clothes were tattered, and as Belle drew closer she could tell that she was humming.

“Let me.” Belle took the bucket and rope from the woman’s hands, lowering it down into the well.

“Thank you, child,” the woman sighed, rubbing her elbows. “These old bones aren’t as strong as they used to be. What’s your name, dear?” Belle thought for a moment as she lowered the bucket, pausing when she felt it grow heavy from the water.

“Rose.” No sense in giving her real name- even if the clerics couldn’t find her here, it was probably best that no one knew the truth for their own safety. The old woman looked her over for a moment, and Belle was suddenly very conscious of her dirty, haggard appearance.

“That your real name?” the woman asked. Isabella nearly dropped the bucket.

“It’s probably better you don’t know my real name,” she mumbled, pulling the bucket back over the edge and handing it to the old woman.

“Are you the one they saw running from the hunt?” she sat the bucket on the ground, reaching up to touch a bloody scratch across Belle’s cheek. “They saw the hunting party coming, said somebody was running from ‘em through the woods, headed our way.”

“Yes,” Belle breathed, startled. “They stopped almost a day’s walk from here. They-”

“Turned around, did they?” she chuckled, motioning for Belle to follow her as she walked towards a small house on the edge of the square. Belle carried the bucket, following cautiously behind. “There’s something far worse than the magic of those clerics in this part of the world. Come inside. You look like you could use a meal.” She opened the door and belle walked inside the humble home.

There were two rooms to the house; a kitchen and dining room combined for cooking and making medicines, and a bedroom off to the side. The stone floor was cold, but clean, and the furnishings were simple. 

“Put the water over there, dear.” She gestured to a spot beside the hearth.

“Thank you, but… Why are you doing this?” Belle asked, sitting the bucked where she’d indicated. The woman went to the cupboard and pulled down a small loaf of bread and some cheese, pushing it into Belle’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said, taking a seat, “I forget to properly introduce myself sometimes. My name is Maggie- I’m the village wise woman. Helping people is part of my job description. And you… you’re kind, I can tell, and you look like you’re in need of some help.”

Belle was silent, only nodding slightly as she broke off a piece of bread.

“You’re more than you think you are, girl, and they know it. They’re after you because they’re scared of you, and I’ll tell you right now, the order they serve isn’t holy. It’s magical.”

“I knew it,” Belle scoffed, then blushed, embarrassed. She’d always expected something of the sort, but never dared to speak of it. Maggie seemed impressed, though.

“Smart girl. They’re afraid of your particular brand of magic, because that is a gift. It’s infinitely more powerful than theirs, and they want to snuff it out before you know exactly what to do with it.”

“How do you know all this?” Belle asked, eyes flitting across the woman’s face.

“I listen. I travel. You’re the first to make it to safety in two hundred years.” Maggie thought for a second, then amended her statement. “Well, if you consider this safety. I suppose you could also say it’s out of the frying pan and into the fire.” 

“What’s here? Why did they stop at the border? Is it one of the great powers?” For the life of her, Belle couldn’t think why she was whispering, or why the words were flying out almost faster than she could think of them. Perhaps it was because everything seemed so quiet around here. There was something utterly strange around this place, a feeling that settled in the very air and wasn’t quite _fear_ , but something close.

“Ah, you _are_ a clever one,” Maggie said slowly. “That’s good. It’s probably going to keep you alive. Now, I’m going to give you some instructions, and I want you to follow them closely.” Belle nodded, swallowing the last of the bread and cheese. “There is a great power here, but you have to tread your ground carefully. Your only hope for survival now lies in training, and your only hope for training is in the great powers. Now, you’re a smart one: name the powers for me.” 

“Umm… Queen Regina, Maleficent, the Blue Fairy, the Black Forest Witch…” Belle was thinking of all the powers that might possibly be around here. Everyone knew that the clerics communicated regularly with Queen Regina, but their monasteries were stationed everywhere, spread out across the land. Thus, she couldn’t be near Queen Regina or they would still be on her tail, and the aura of “almost fear” around the place wasn’t fitting for the Blue Fairy.

“Think,” Maggie said, tapping her temple. “Use that pretty head of yours.”

“No,” Belle breathed, realization dawning. “The Dark One?” Arguably the most dangerous of all the powers, and definitely the most fickle, Rumpelstiltskin was not the person she wanted to think that her last hope resided in. However, the great powers _were_ her only hope of survival, and finding another one listed on a map (besides Regina, of course) wasn’t likely. 

“He’s a tricky one, but you need him. It’s his magic that’s holding them back- the Dark Castle is still three days’ walk from here, and the magic is so potent that they can already feel it. Rumpelstiltskin doesn’t tolerate the clerics, and they know it. I believe he sent them the heads of a few of their order as a calling card the last time they tried to cause trouble here.”

“But my magic isn’t-” she started to say that it wasn’t that powerful, not that potent, only insignificant and small, but Maggie seemed to read her mind.

“Not yet. Give it time, give it training. Magic has to be nurtured, cared for just like a child. Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t born with his magic, but he had to nurture it and learn it just the same.” The old woman rose, taking two traveler’s loaves and a water skin from her cabinets, wrapping them in a cloth. “You can travel by daylight now. I would offer you a place to sleep, but you don’t have time to waste- the sooner you’re under his protection, the better. Find him and be quick about it, and whatever you do, don’t let him turn you away.”

Belle stood, turning for the door, a sense of urgency suddenly setting in. She was almost more afraid now than she’d been before. Should she fail in acquiring the help of the Spinner, she would have to seek out another power, and fight the clerics the whole way there, traveling blind and by night with bandits and marauders on the roads.

In short, should she fail in acquiring the Spinner’s help, she was going to die.

X

The journey to the Dark Castle was harder than the journey into the Dark One’s lands. It was on a winding, rocky mountain path, which would most certainly have to be taken on horseback or on foot. A carriage could never make it up, and in all honesty a horse probably wouldn’t go much faster on these roads. Belle was positive he could make it easier if he’d wanted to, but she had an idea forming in her mind: if Rumpelstiltskin knew she was here, and if he could turn away the clerics so easily then there was no doubt that he knew, was he trying to test her?

Belle traveled as much as she could, stopping to sleep only when she could walk no farther without it, reaching the castle in two rather than three days. The place was extremely intimidating, even from the outside, with tall towers and dark stone walls looming over her. If it wasn’t broad daylight she probably would have been scared out of her wits when she arrived, but daylight it was, and she needed to knock on the door.

The huge, impractical knocker made a low, booming thud that echoed throughout the courtyard. When no one answered the first knock, she tried again, louder this time. Still no answer. The stables were quiet, the grounds seemingly abandoned, neglected for years. Wild roses grew everywhere, thorny vines of climbing the walls and reaching for the sun, the only thing akin to garden plants in sight. 

When she knocked for the third time, someone finally came to the door, the huge wooden things swinging open at once to reveal the sole resident of the castle.

The Spinner himself stood before her, a suspicious look on his face. His skin was a greenish-brown color that glinted gold in the light, covered with what looked like scales. Cold blue eyes took in her form quickly, and small, deft fingers tapped impatiently as he stood with crossed arms.

“I don’t know if anyone’s told you, dearie, but I don’t take kindly to beggars around here,” he snapped. Belle flushed momentarily. She knew she looked ragged, but was it really _that_ bad?

“I’m not a beggar-” she began, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand.

“Perhaps not a beggar of the usual sort, but a beggar nonetheless.” Rumpelstiltskin walked forward, circling her like a hawk. His wardrobe certainly played up the part of the Dark One today- all blacks and brows, and a rather peculiar coat made from the hide of some unidentified animal that she’d rather not contemplate too much. “You’re running. Running away from the clerics, and come to beg for my help, have you?”

He seemed to be examining her, gauging her every reaction, watching her every move.

“No,” she said firmly. Her time traveling here had at least given her enough time to make a plan. If she wanted his help, she would have to be clever about it. Rumpelstiltskin was the most subtle of the great powers, preferring tiny, unnoticeable tricks that escalated into chaos than the more direct route.

“No?” he giggled slightly, sounding almost like a surprised child.

“I want to make a deal,” Belle said, willing her voice not to shake. Show fear, and she was done for.

“Ah, the lady speaks my language.” The Dark one clapped his hands together in glee, coming around to face her. “What did you have in mind?”

That was the part she didn’t have planned out. Belle took a half second to gather her words, speaking slowly lest she stumble and miss her only chance.

“How much help do you have around here?” she asked quickly, thinking of the wild roses and the rocky path. “I’m not completely useless. I can clean, and cook a little, and I know it’s got to be rather lonely around here-”

“Are you offering your services as a housekeeper?” he asked, a bit amused. Belle shrugged sheepishly. She really had nothing else to offer- gold was worthless to him, even if she’d had any. This man dealt in the fabric of people’s _lives_. “And this would be in return for…?”

He was _considering_ it?

“If you know I’m running, then you know I can’t leave,” she said, thinking as she spoke. “I’m stuck here. If you could teach me how to use my magic, or even get rid of it-”

“Get _rid_ of it?!” Rumpelstiltskin glared at her with such incredulity that it bordered on outrage. “Why in seven hells would you want to get rid of it?!” He was practically screaming into her face at this point, but Belle did little more than flinch at his initial outburst, refusing to back away.

“I didn’t choose magic,” she spat, anger and indignation taking over logic. “Magic chose me. I’d be just as happy to be rid of it, should that be easier for you to accomplish, and then I’ll be on my merry way.” Rumpelstiltskin shook his head sadly.

“Foolish girl,” he whispered, beginning his circling once more. “Foolish, brave girl. All magic comes with a price, even the magic inside you. Tell me… are both your parents still alive?” 

“My mother died in childbirth,” Belle said softly. All her life she’d known.

“I’d think so,” the Spinner muttered. He pointed a finger towards Belle’s chest, just above the swell of her breasts, where her heart might be. “Your magic is inside you, dearie. It’s a gift, but it comes with a dire price. All children born of magic loose someone early in their lives- usually a mother, sometimes a father, but always someone close to the child. _That's_ the price. It always has been with your kind, and it always will be.”

Belle couldn’t take it in fast enough. The whole event was far too insane, far too surreal to be thought about in that way. Her magic- this power that she had never wanted and probably never would- had sprung from the death of her mother? Or was it the other way around? Had she caused her mother’s death? She didn’t have time to think on that before the Spinner was babbling again.

“I’ll tell you what, dearie,” he said, coming up behind her to whisper in her ear, hands playing around her arms and shoulders. “I’ll accept your offer. You stay with me in the Dark Castle…”

“And you’ll teach me to use my magic?” Belle finished, trying not to think about their current proximity. It was probably best not to dwell on the fact that no man ever dared come this close to her before except Gaston.

“Oh, I’ll teach you to use your magic like no one else can, but you must swear that you’ll not question my methods, nor reveal my secrets after our time together has finished. I can dispose of you with a flick of my fingers, should the need arise. Remember that, dearie.”

“How long will I stay here? And what if I _can’t_ learn?” Belle asked, suddenly thinking of that particular aspect. It could be troublesome if something like that wasn’t covered in their deal.

“Smart girl. If you are able to learn, your time with me will be over when you choose to end it, but when you leave, you don’t come back. Ever. Don’t come back to me if you can’t handle yourself out there. If you _can’t_ learn… you will stay forever.”

The words rang out in Belle’s mind, echoing into the far caverns of a space she didn’t know existed. _Forever_. He was making this risky for her on purpose, seeing how far she was willing to go before she snapped. Well… if she wasn’t going to rid herself of her magic, then what other choice was there? There were probably worse things than staying as a housekeeper for the rest of your life, even a housekeeper to the Dark One.

She spun around to face him, extending her hand.

“Deal.” 

When he shook her hand, playful giggle floating through the air, she was surprised to find his fingers soft and warm, though the texture was slightly strange. She held his hand perhaps a moment too long before letting it drop, following him through the doors of the castle.

As soon as she was inside they swung shut behind her.


	2. A Desperate Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the support for this fic! I truly appreciate it, especially with my kind of frenzied, very non-orderly writing and updates.

Rumpelstiltskin was not rash.

It was against his very nature to be so, having made too many deals and noticed too many flaws to be one to make quick decisions. Every now and then, though, a deal got to him that he simply couldn’t refuse. When this ragtag girl had presented herself at his doorstep, there was something there, something that burned just behind her eyes that made him curious.

She’d seemed a fumbling idiot like the rest of them at first, but her voice was steady when she spoke. She held her head high.

And the ultimate thing that had reeled him in? He could tell by her very stance that she would be rooted in the spot until she had her deal. 

All this had gone through his mind in perhaps three seconds, and coupled with the fact that he actually _did_ need a caretaker, it was the reason why she was now following him down the hallway.

X

Belle’s footsteps echoed as she walked, patting on the stone softly. The parts of the castle she had seen so far (namely the entryway and the hallways) were made cool gray stone, with torches for light in darker corners. Passages dipped off in every direction, and Belle wondered if anyone was ever lost in here before- properly, truly lost. How long would it take to find them in a maze like this? It practically reeked of hidden cubbyholes and secret rooms, unlike the simple layout of her old home.

“You’re a lucky one, dearie. My last caretaker ran away screaming two weeks ago,” Rumpelstiltskin said nonchalantly. Belle had to remind herself to pay attention- she would have plenty of time to gawk at her surroundings later. She didn’t give the phrase “ _ran away screaming_ ” as much time to ferment in her mind as she probably should have for her sanity’s sake. She’d heard the stories, and if she was going to survive this ordeal she could ask questions another time. There was no point in making herself even more frightened when she was already on the brink of shaking.

“You will tend the gardens, you will serve meals, and you will clean the castle. Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to, don’t get lost, don’t act like a sniveling child, _and_ -” he whirled around, pointing a finger so that the tip of his black nail was almost touching her nose. Belle didn’t flinch this time.

“For the sake of whatever God you believe in, _do not try to run away_.” His sharp blue eyes flicked slightly across her face. “I don’t think I’ll have to worry about you with the clerics on your tail, but you should know that there are worse monsters than me that come out at night.”

Belle chose not to reply to that. She didn’t want to know what creatures were in the woods just now, and as for Rumpelstiltskin… He certainly seemed to be civil so far, hadn’t done anything monstrous besides being slightly unnerving, and… well, from close up he almost looked human, if you could disregard his slightly shining skin and the irises that were just a bit too large to pass as normal.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, taking a double step to catch up with him. Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t a tall man, but he had a good six inches on Belle at least, and his strides were longer by far.

“Your room,” he said curtly, making yet another turn. It would be absolutely impossible to find her way around here, at least for a few days. The first one of Rumpelstiltskin’s rules to be broken would undoubtedly be “don’t get lost.” The only way she might be able to find her way around was by the tapestries.

The tapestries were grand, ornate things hanging on every wall, and all depicting some kind of exotic scene. One was a snowy mountain pass with bear tracks heading through the canyon, one was a lush lagoon with a group of mermaids sunning themselves on the shore, and yet another was a battle scene so bloody that Belle had to turn away. She’d read about battles, even seen her fair share of wounded the year the ogres attacked, but something about that particular scene gave her chills.

As they walked through the castle, Belle could clearly tell that while the inner workings may have been built for hospitality, sporting rugs and wide passageways, reds and deep pinks on the walls, and all in all looking not very much like a _Dark_ Castle, its chief purpose had been for defense. The walls were thick, and the windows were high. The complicated system of passages allowed one to make your way to virtually anywhere by any means, and also to trap anyone who didn’t know their way around. Whoever had designed the place was a genius…

Unless it was built by magic, of course.

She might have to ask about that later.

Eventually, the Spinner came to a stop outside a door. Swirling designs formed a pattern on the dark wood, and Belle was tempted to trace her fingers over it. Rumpelstiltskin opened the door, gesturing for her to go inside, but made no move to follow.

“You’ll find fresh clothes in the wardrobe. Bathe and come down to the dining room for dinner- two lefts, a right, and down the staircase- and we’ll discuss matters further.” He was about to turn and leave, but Belle still had one more question.

“Wait!” she said. Rumpelstiltskin immediately turned, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, dearie?” he didn’t seem impatient… In fact, he seemed eerily calm, like this sort of thing was an everyday occurrence. 

“What happened to the others?” Her voice was shaking, but she kept going. “In the village I found when I first came here, there was a woman who sent me to you, and she said there were others like me.”

“Aye, there were,” the man nodded slowly, and Belle had the feeling again that she was being surveyed.

“What happened to them?” She’d wanted to ask Maggie, but the old woman had shooed her out so fast that she hardly had time to think. Rumpelstiltskin licked his lips, an impish giggle on the tip of his tongue, but it sounded dark rather than playful, like a demon’s trill.

“Now, dearie,” he blinked, turning away once more. “What did I tell you about asking questions you don’t want to know the answers to?” 

And then she blinked, and he was gone.

It felt like someone was sliding ice down her back- like she was about to physically shiver. When she was little she would have run into her father’s arms, and he would have told her the same thing she was thinking now: _Be brave, Belle. Even if you don’t feel brave, do the brave thing and bravery will follow._ Running would hardly help her now. Instead, she shook herself, shut the doors, and turned to face the rest of the room.

Her jaw dropped.

Unlike the rest of the castle, these walls and the floor had wood paneling over the stone, perhaps to make it feel more like a luxury and less like a fort, and the entire room was outfitted in warm shades of burgundy and cream. A large, but not too high bed was tucked in one corner of the room, garnished by a rose-embroidered coverlet. To one side there was a wardrobe, ornately carved as the door to the room itself, an empty desk, and something that seemed to be a vanity, but lacked a mirror. Carpets covered most of the floor, and there was a tub of steaming water precisely in the middle of the room. 

Belle shrugged, fiddling with the clasp of her cloak. Unceremoniously tossing the now tattered piece of fabric into the empty wardrobe, she suddenly realized that her clothing would be rather hard to get out of. The deep blue dress and corset laced in the back, and it was nearly impossible to twist her arms behind her enough to even graze the laces with her fingertips. Not for the first time, she realized how much extra weight the heavy brocade fabric must be, and ached to get out of it even more. Finally, groaning in frustration, she sat on the floor and flopped onto her back. 

And found that the laces seemed to have shifted.

Belle sat up as fast as she’d dropped, reaching behind her to finger her dress. The laces hadn’t just loosened, they’d completely vanished! She almost laughed, remembering that this was one of her bits of magic that she’d never learned to control. Whenever she was exceedingly uncomfortable her magic had a mind of its own, and was notorious for loosening her gowns and corset, and on one occasion completely changing her clothing without her notice. 

Of course, that wasn’t nearly as bad as the day they had trouble with flying books in the library, but _that_ was a story to dwell on another time... a time when home was a more feasible place. Her family would be fine- coming back to kill them would only make the news very widespread that the clerics had failed in their latest assassination attempt, and they couldn’t have that going around.

But she couldn’t return home again, not without putting her life and the lives of her family members at stake.

For now, she checked to make sure the door was locked (though she had no doubt Rumpelstiltskin could come in if he wanted to), then slipped out of her dress, let the corset drop to the floor, and pulled the chemise over her head. The lightness was dizzying, as always. A formal court gown wouldn’t have been her first choice to run away in, but then… well, one never plans on running for their life after a formal court affair, now do they? Alright, maybe some people did, but Belle didn’t. She’d taken perhaps five minutes to get her supplies ready, consisting of food, water, and few medical supplies, and then she was off, running through the rain and the woods. 

Her clothes had dirt even on the lower layers, and she was positive her face was dirty, too, even though there wasn’t a mirror anywhere to be seen. Her long, dark hair fell loose around her shoulders, the pins having been lost several days ago, one by one becoming dislodged by something or another. Belle’s skin was dirty, too, her arms and legs cut and scratched from brambles and briars, the sleeves and skirt of her dress torn. She sank into the water willingly, finding towels, a sponge and soap on the other side of the tub.

The scratches burned and her stiff limbs protested, but ultimately a soak in the hot water was exactly what she needed. Belle assumed that the water had been brought up by magic, because it had been drawn extremely fast, and there didn’t seem to be any other people in the castle. Though she stayed in the bath until her fingertips wrinkled and she was scrubbed clean to her satisfaction, the water never became dirty and never became cold.

Belle sighed, glancing at her discarded clothing in dismay. If she was lucky she might be able to get dressed again by herself, but she most definitely couldn’t do anything about the grimy state of her clothing. At the very least she could discard her corset, which was a relief. She opened the wardrobe to toss the stupid thing in with her cloak, and dropped it in surprise.

What had previously been an empty wardrobe was now full of selection of clean dresses, and dresses that laced in the front no less! Pressed against the far right side of the wardrobe was something that looked like her cloak, but it couldn’t have been. This thing was pristine and whole, while the one she had tossed inside not an hour ago had been ripped, fraying, and caked with dirt. 

Magic was going to take some getting used to, Belle thought. Even though she’d lived with it her entire life, her magic had always been a sort of uncontrollable presence, like a spring that gradually coiled under stress and anger, and just whenever you had the misfortune to let your guard down, the spring would release, and something unpredictable would happen.

Like the time when she was four and the gardens had been lush and thriving all winter long. Father hadn’t minded that one too much until people raised questions.

Or the time she was six and saw a dead chicken for the first time. The chicken pies had exploded into feathers in the kitchen.

Or the multiple times that Belle would catch herself reading while the pages turned themselves. That one _did_ raise questions if the wrong people were around.

The visiting court magicians had thought her “parlor tricks” just child’s play, and the only ones who ever took it seriously were the clerics. Then again, the clerics took everything having to do with magic _extremely_ seriously. It was a well-known fact that some children exhibited magical potential that, in fact, came to nothing. The general rule for girls was that if her magic stayed present past the time her first blood came, then she would keep it.

Belle had bled for the first time when she was ten years old. 

The next week the roast pig burst into flames at the table.

All in all, her magic had never caused her much of a problem, becoming more of an annoying quirk than anything, and hadn’t become much of a problem until she was sixteen years old and her first prospective suitor had been thrown from his extremely docile horse. He had several broken ribs and didn’t come back. Of course, no one had known that it was Belle’s magic that had done that- they all thought it was a snake or some other kind of fluke that spooked the horse, but Belle knew better. She felt the spring snap, felt the power release, and she knew it was her fault. After that the clerics kept a very, very close watch on her.

Belle pulled a green dress with a pattern of yellow flowers from the wardrobe, the bodice made so that the lacing would show a white blouse underneath. It fit almost perfectly, and there was absolutely no need for a corset… Not that she would have bothered, anyways. It was considered something necessary for decency, but in Belle’s opinion it only drew a man’s eyes to the waist and bosoms, which encouraged anything _but_ decency. She was alone in a castle with Rumpelstiltskin- as much as the thought made her shudder, he probably wouldn’t need encouraging. 

Slipping into a pair of soft black shoes, Belle made her way down the hallway, trying and failing not to dwell on her last thought. Everyone knew the legends about the Spinner, but no one knew where truths ended and the imaginings began. They said he stole babies from the cribs at night, and she knew for a fact that wasn’t true: children were popular payments for deals. The Spinner was centuries old, and so were writings about him, and Belle knew that he took children as payment for deals, usually firstborns.

What she didn’t know was his romantic history. Oh, at every village there was some girl who would whisper to the others about making a deal with the Dark One… or even, in some cases, _seducing_ the Dark One. The stories would be told in dark corners or by firesides while the others squealed in something between terror and delight. Belle had heard the details of several of these stories (though she was never meant to), and they were all far too graphic for her liking.

Though she was nearly positive they had been lies, one couldn’t be too careful. Even if she was never going to leave this place again, she wouldn’t have herself be defiled by anyone, especially not the imp in the dining room. The man was a complete and total mystery, and one that Belle would rather leave under wraps. Though she didn’t find his manner overly repulsive, she wasn’t stupid. She could smell danger like a sixth sense, and Rumpelstiltskin absolutely reeked of it.

The directions to the dining room were rather simple, but at every corner she felt like something was watching her. The eyes on those blasted tapestries seemed to burn right through her clothing and skin, the stitched figures of angels and demons looking into her soul like no human being could. She felt chilly and shaken by the time she arrived, and her face was probably flushed from walking so quickly to try to get out of the hallway.

Housekeeper. Bah.

_What a brilliant idea, Belle. Offer yourself as a housekeeper for a man whose house scares you._

It was an absurd thought, almost laughable. Here she was making bold, stupid comments to Rumpelstiltskin himself, and now the tapestries were making her shudder.

The aforementioned staircase came down the side of the dining room itself, narrow and hugging the wall like a lover. The high ceiling allowed for two sets of stairs, one on either side, to lead down to the room from the floor above where the room actually was. Two entrances to the next floor down were tucked under the stairs.

Rumpelstiltskin was waiting on her, seated at the table and half turned away. The sight of him took her by surprise- the leather and animal skin was gone, replaced by a heavily embroidered vest and a silk shirt, tall boots and rather… _tight_ breeches. From this distance his skin looked more brown than green, giving him more the appearance of a normal human being. He looked almost docile, actually, flipping through a book with his head bent low. Had she not known this was the Dark Castle and the Spinner was sitting at that table, Belle would have thought he was some kind of scholar.

She would have entered quietly, except that she tripped on the hem of her dress and crashed to the floor with a thud. Rumpelstiltskin looked over, eyebrows raised, and Belle blushed furiously as she picked herself up from the floor. He smirked slightly, but made no comment about the fall.

“I see you had no trouble finding your way here.” In the time that it had taken Belle to stand, the table had been filled with food of all sorts, and two place settings were in front of two chairs.

“The directions you gave were straightforward,” Belle said, shrugging. There was only one other chair at the long table, so she walked around and sat in it. The chairs were placed directly across from each other in the middle of the long sides, in order to have the least possible distance between conversing parties while still facing one another. Neither of them made a move to eat; Belle wasn’t particularly hungry, and Rumpelstiltskin still seemed to be assessing her.

Rumpelstiltskin studied her for a moment before speaking.

“So, you want to learn the secrets of magic?” a tiny smile played around the corners of his mouth, large eyes dancing. Yes, no matter how his playfulness attempted to cover it up, the man was drenched in danger.

“I want to learn to control my magic,” Belle said. He nodded slowly, considering.

“Impossible,” he suddenly said. Belle’s heart sank, but her temper rose. She bit her lip as the Dark One continued. “Whenever you use magic, dearie, you walk a fine line between controlling the power and letting the power control you. It’s a dance, and a dance you must learn the steps to quickly should you want to survive. It’s impossible to control magic without first learning to _use_ magic, and vice versa.” Belle swallowed hard, but made no move.

“I see the reluctance in you, child. You don’t want to use your power because you think it will only bring hate and destruction. You’ve seen magic do terrible things at the hands of terrible men, haven’t you?” 

From somewhere deep inside, Belle managed to find her voice. “Yes.”

“Then now is the time to learn more than ever,” he concluded with a nod. “Magic is a gift, a gift to this world and to precious few others, but all magic comes with a price.”

“What kind of price?” Belle asked, curious. Rumpelstiltskin sniggered, twiddling his fingers.

“That depends on the magic, dearie.” A strange endearment, Belle thought, but she didn’t interrupt. This was fascinating, and the way the Spinner moved his hands when he talked was almost hypnotic. “Magic, as much as people like to think otherwise, is not a force that likes to be possessed. It runs in the bones and the blood, in the water and the rocks and the trees, entwining itself in the very spirit of every single part of this world. Everyone has magic, dearie, if you think about terms of having and holding, even though you can’t really _have_ or _hold_ it.” He paused for a moment, as if waiting for a response from Belle. Thankfully, there was a logical question practically bursting forth from her.

“But if everyone has magic, then why doesn’t everyone do what you do?” she asked. If even the normal people of the village had the same force that gave the Dark One all his power… it didn’t make any sense.

“That’s the point. Everyone has magic inside them, but only a precious few are born with the ability to access it. What’s the point in having the key to a great treasure if you don’t know where the treasure is?” the question was clearly rhetorical, but Belle nodded her understanding. There was something about his eyes that almost frightened her. He looked like a cross between a demon and a wise man in that one second of silence, and she found herself wondering just how long he had been shut up in this castle.

“You might want to eat, dearie, before the food gets cold.” His voice snapped her out of her thoughts, and she nodded, taking a sip of sweet wine from a cup near her plate.

The food was warm and substantial, more than she’d had in days, but one thought kept coming back to the forefront of her mind and disturbing her supper: the clerics wanted her dead. She, who possessed the same magic as they, was infinitely less powerful, and they wanted to kill her. More than that, they thought she had sold her soul for her power. Magic was not looked upon lightly in her part of the world- almost to the point of being considered a curse if you were bestowed with it, depending on how strong it was and who trained you.

Why would they kill innocent people? Why not just leave them in peace, or get rid of the magic, or teach them to use it? Why cause all the bloodshed? The thoughts turned in her head, and her appetite slowly diminished.

X

Rumpelstiltskin watched her as she ate. The girl was bright, no doubt, and she cleaned up well. She didn’t seem to be afraid of him, which was either extremely brave or extremely stupid on her part, but she did seem to at least respect him for what he was. He expected the entire situation was quite surreal to her- she hadn’t looked as though his acceptance of her offer was expected. Truth be told, it wasn’t the first time a girl had offered her servitude in exchange for something, and he was almost to the point of refusing to accept… but this one looked a fighter. She’d come to him in what looked like a princess’ rags, bruised and bleeding, demanding a deal and reeking of magical potential. 

Even at that he might have turned her away under normal circumstances, sent her to Maleficent or the Black Forest Witch or the Blue Fairy, or even that blasted wizard with the infernal beard in cahoots with King Whats-his-face. However, he _was_ the Dark One, and he knew better than most how to recognize a desperate soul. Perhaps it was the way she looked at him, all steel and suppressed fear and anger. Her eyes were bright, even though she was obviously tired and looked like nothing more than a shell that might once have been a person when you caught her at the right moment. She hadn’t shied away from him for a moment, not even when he touched her. Even now, as she picked at her plate, the emotions were like raw and angry welts across her very heart, and he could see every one of them. 

Grief, terror, relief, and an overwhelming amount of anger- all written plainly in her every gesture, all simply lying out in the open. Perhaps that was what struck him as odd, the way she bared her heart on her sleeve for all to see. A guarded creature, he presumed, one who had never had the need to guard herself, else she would be more careful about what she allowed to show. Even as he watched her face was paling and her breathing becoming shallow by miniscule degrees, knuckles white around her fork. Any other observer might have been thrown off by her posture, as she remained relaxed and her face was a mask… but that was an old court trick, and one easily remedied if she was really as fiery a girl as she seemed.

“Something the matter, dearie?” he asked, studying her face. Belle looked up, long hair falling loose around her face and lips red from biting them in an attempt to keep her mouth shut. He had to admit, the entire affect was nothing short of pretty, and would easily have passed for _alluring_ if it weren’t for the anger in her eyes.

In Rumpelstiltskin’s not-so-humble opinion she certainly had some spunk to her, but he wasn’t about to let her know that. No point in letting her get cocky- fear was a very powerful motivator, and he’d prefer to keep things that way. He would train her, and she would leave him in peace, but not before he found out exactly what made her so _intriguing_.

“Why?” she asked, shaking her head. “Why do people look on magic as a stain on your very soul when they carry it inside themselves? Why do they hunt and kill innocent people who don’t have a choice as to what they’re born with? Why do the clerics act as if their magic should be the only magic, and why is it necessary to shed blood for something that acts as a life force for our world?!” Her voice had risen to a point where it echoed throughout the room, and she was clearly fighting to fight to keep her breathing steady.

It was at that moment that Rumpelstiltskin decided that he might do more than simply teach her. The deal had been made so that she would know enough to control her magic, and he could show her to do that in a few hours’ time. He needed to test her out, feel her for weak points, see if she cooked under pressure. If she passed specifications, however unlikely that might be, he would do so much more that give her control. He would give her knowledge.

And it wasn’t only the passion in her eyes. It was the one question that she didn’t ask.

X

“Let me tell you something about the clerics, dearie,” he said slowly. “They are not the holy men some of your people make them out to be. They are ruthless murderers, and their magic is their only master. People come to my door all the time begging for help, begging for some deal or other, all asking the same question, and some of them I can do nothing for.”

“You made a deal with me.” Belle said, setting her jaw. She would not cry. Even in her fury and her pain, she _would not_ cry in front of this man.

“Aye, that I did, because you are not a sniveling brat, and you just proved that to me.” His voice was rough, deeper than it usually was, as if he was somehow impressed with her.

“I didn’t do anything.” She’d been angry, and her words were spoken without thought for consequences in front of the most dangerous man in the world… and that fact suddenly made her feel very, very small.

“You didn’t ask the one question they all ask,” his manic giggle returned, and he seemed to be taking a genuine interest in his conversation with her. “Oh, they never say it out loud, but I can read it on them like lines on a page. I know what they’re thinking, and I hear their cries in the night. All of them, every single one, simply crying out ‘Why me?’”

“Why me?” Belle asked, confused. “What’s the point in asking that? If you don’t like it then you do something about it.”

“See, that’s what I don’t _get_ about you, dearie,” he said, rising from the table to pace as he talked. “You don’t _pity_ yourself. Even strong men have walked away from here weeping from nothing but sheer self-pity, and you lose everything and come to me with your head held high. I doubt everything has even had time to sink into that pretty head of yours, has it?” Rumpelstiltskin reached a hand out to brush a stray curl from her forehead, but she swatted him away. He did nothing but giggle again and continue to talk. 

“Every time a new person falls into my service, I give them… a sort of orientation.”

“A test?” Belle sat up just a bit straighter, wondering if he would elaborate.

“If you will,” he shrugged. “I told you my last caretaker ran away screaming, and you didn’t flinch. I told you there were monsters in the woods. I even made the price higher for you if you couldn’t learn, and still you took the deal. No doubt you’ve heard the stories- hunting children, stealing babies, dark magic… And yet you came to my door and wanted to make a deal with the Devil.” As the Spinner spoke he became more animated, ending with a look into her eyes that seemed to pierce her very heart. 

“You’re not the Devil,” Belle said, holding his gaze. Her hands were shaking under the table, though. "You're just a man." Granted, a very powerful and deadly man. She wasn't sure if the wine was making her extraordinarily bold, or if it just irked her for anyone to compare themselves with infinite good or evil. Rumpelstiltskin smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, his voice low and laced with daggers.

“You’re either very brave or very stupid, dearie, and I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“Does that make me brave?” 

“Not necessarily.” He frowned slightly, as if he was turning her words over in his head. Belle pushed back from the table, standing to face him.

“What am I, then?” Even drawing herself up to her full height, he had a good six inches on her at least, and his wiry frame was more intimidating than an executioner as he spoke, a smirk playing around the corners of his mouth.

“Desperate. Extremely desperate.”


	3. Heartless

“A desperate girl shows up on your doorstep and you decide to cut her a deal?” Belle spoke slowly. She was treading on dangerous ground, and she knew it. “That doesn’t sound like what I’ve heard about you.”

“Would you prefer the raging monster out to ruin your life and destroy your innocence?” Rumpelstiltskin raised an eyebrow, but Belle was past the point of being frightened. “Not only are you extremely desperate, but you have the stink of magical buildup on you. No doubt every half-witted wizard for miles knows you’re here.”

“Then what’s stopping them from coming to get me?” Belle gritted her teeth, becoming rather impatient but determined to get answers if she got nothing else from him.

“I think you well know that,” Rumpelstiltskin snapped. “Don’t play stupid with me. It isn’t a good idea, I assure you. If you want this deal to endure you’ll have to be sharp.”

“You don’t even know my name,” she said, laughing coldly. The little man’s face suddenly turned serious, and his pacing stopped.

“What would you like to be called?” he asked. Belle seemed confused, hesitated, and he clarified his question. “Names are power, dearie. I suggest you choose yours wisely.”

“Belle. My name is Belle.” As she spoke the very air around her seemed to shudder. The feeling wasn’t unpleasant, but it certainly wasn’t normal.

“Is that your given name?” He seemed merely curious, not demanding as he had throughout the earlier bits of their conversation.

“No,” she shook her head. “My full name is Isabella, but no one ever calls me that.” He seemed to visually weigh the choices, moving his hands like scales before nodding, satisfied.

“Then Belle it is.” There was no further explanation, but she made note to pester him for one sometime. That is, once she found out how much pestering the man would take. Perhaps she should wait about testing boundaries with him until she was certain her life wasn’t in danger. With a wave of his hand, the remains of dinner vanished from sight, leaving the table empty and clean. It seemed that cooking would not be among her duties as a… what did he call it? A caretaker?

“Lesson number one starts tomorrow, dearie. If you’re ready, you’ll find me.” He reached for her hand, grasping it in a courtly manner, but did not kiss it as a knight or a nobleman might have. Instead he gave her delicate fingers a very slight squeeze, and then let it return to her side before walking off.

She had a thousand other questions to ask him, but her mouth simply wouldn’t form the words. Something about Rumpelstiltskin told her that he wasn’t the type of man who liked to stay longer than he deemed fitting. The air still seemed to shiver from when he spoke her name- _Belle it is_. A crackling, like static or the way the sky seemed to shudder before rain. 

At least there was a little comfort in his words. He seemed to think she could be taught… but she still didn’t know what he would be teaching her. She should be scared- she should be _terrified_ \- but she wasn’t, not even with the prospect of spending a night in the Dark Castle with the infamous Spinner of the darkest childhood tales. Whatever was coming, she was stuck with it now, the only thing left to cling to being the hope for some kind of future after all this ended. If it _ever_ ended.

Either way, she’d made a deal, and it was hers to carry out or run from.

And Belle was determined that she was done running.

X

After a fitful night’s sleep, Belle awoke in a panic before she realized exactly where she was. The green dress that she had carefully draped over her footboard had disappeared, and a new selection of work-appropriate clothing had appeared in the wardrobe. She’d decided not to question it.

She chose a simple brown cotton dress and a thin white blouse, letting her hair fall freely around her face for the simple lack of anything to pin it up with. There was a note hanging on her doorknob, tied with a blue ribbon.

_Take a look around. If you’ll remember, your duties are mainly resigned to cleaning and gardening. Should you find the cleaning supplies or the garden, that is._

Belle tucked the paper in her skirt pocket with a sigh and started down the hallway. She could practically imagine him sniggering- probably watching her traveling through the halls, maybe getting hopelessly lost.

The tapestries still seemed to glare at her, though she could have sworn that the man with a gash in his arm had been dueling the warrior in the helmet before. Now he was on horseback, pointing the troops forward. The pictures were still eerie, though not quite as disturbing as she’d previously thought.

After strolling down the dusty corridors with no particular destination, she began to wonder if she shouldn’t have brought something to trace her oath back with. What was that story about the labyrinth? Didn’t he find his way out with a ball of string? That would have to be something on her list for the future.

Without a map or a guide, Belle was simply trying not to become hopelessly lost, and even gave up on that plan once she turned and realized that the corridor behind her did not look the same as when she had walked down it before. Fear swelled in her chest, but there wasn’t a point in turning back, so she walked forward, towards the large double doors, a wizard with outstretched arms carved into the wood. The figure was taller than she by at least a foot, clad in flowing robes and a pointed hat. If it weren’t for the seam down the middle of the doors, Belle would have sworn he was real. She reached out gently to touch the carved arm, wooden stars on his hat shining faintly from all the polishing and oiling.

“What _are_ you doing?”

Belle jumped back, turning around, but the hallway was empty.

“Yes, hello, girl. Up here.” 

She turned back around, eyes slowly moving upwards to find that the mouth and eyes of the wizard were _moving._

“I know you’re not about to open that door.” He said in a scolding tone. “Being split in half is horribly uncomfortable, you know.”

“I- I’m sorry,” Belle stammered, staring. “I didn’t actually know you were…”

“Alive?” the wizard shrugged, the rest of his body suddenly becoming as animated as his eyes and mouth, though still firmly lodged in the door. “I’m not really alive, in the traditional sense of the term, but the tree I was carved from was enchanted, so I am, too. I can still think and feel pain, though, and let me say it was a very poor choice for the carver to put me in the middle of these doors!” Belle nodded slowly, considering.

“You sound very alive to me.”

“Well, thank you.” He looked as if he would blush if he weren’t wooden. “Now… who are you?”

“I’m Belle. I’m the new…” she fumbled around for a moment, trying to come up with an apt term. “Caretaker. I’m the new caretaker.”

“You’re rather magical for a caretaker.” The wizard raised a wooden eyebrow.

“How did you know?” she asked, wondering how it was possible for a wooden door to tell she had magical abilities.

“Magic tree. It’s good for those things,” he said, as if that were all the explanation she could ever want. “Anyways, if you want to get into the library, there’s a tapestry just to my left, and a door behind it. Use that one, if you please.”

“The library?” Belle’s eyes lit up, and the wooden wizard chuckled.

“Yes, the library. I rather fancy myself the guardian of the library- even named myself after it- Troubadour at your service.” Troubadour preformed as close a thing to a bow as a wooden wizard could.

“Nice to meet you,” Belle smiled. She thought she could possibly stay and talk to the wizard all day, but there were things to be done, and a whole library on the other side of those doors…

“Don’t mind me,” Troubadour winked, noticing her enthusiasm. “I’ll meet you inside.” He suddenly became stiff and utterly inanimate again, and Belle turned, lifted the tapestry, and entered the library through the secondary doorway.

The room was huge.

It was a giant column with high windows and books lining every spare space- stacked in piles on the floor, lying open on tables cluttered with pens and ink. Besides the general cluttered state and perhaps a little dust, the room deemed to be in pristine condition. Staircases crisscrossed upwards, spiraling and swerving in patterns that were nearly impossible to follow. She’d never seen so many books in one place in all her life. 

“You like it?” Troubadour’s voice echoed through the room, but all Belle could do was nod, mouth gaping.

“I… yes,” She breathed. Her eyes finally rested on a blank space of wall, where the wizard had appeared. “I thought you were stuck on the door!” she said, walking over.

“Yes and no. I can move anywhere my image has been carved, and that just so happens to be in quite a few places around this house… and occasionally in other houses. I am the emblem of wisdom and knowledge for those with magical capabilities, so I show up fairly often in houses and libraries, but my home is here. Nowhere else has carvings of enchanted wood.” He seemed extremely pleased with himself about this. “But it still doesn’t feel nice to be swung apart violently.”

Belle chatted with Troubadour a few minutes longer before deciding to get to work cleaning and straightening. Dusting off the furniture wasn’t so bad, but she had no clue how to organize the books other than making neat stacks and praying she hadn’t upset anything important. Some of them were written in a language she didn’t know how to read, and others were simply not legible, bound from old letters or other water stained and smudged papers.

Though she ached to explore all the shelves, that would take time, and right now she had two tasks at hand: find her way around and find Rumpelstiltskin. As much as she wished she could stay in the library for a month and do nothing but read, there were more important matters at hand that didn’t involve wasting away her days here. Perhaps she could come back after dinner and read…

She found the dining room and walked straight through it, taking no more time than was necessary to make note of what was in the closets (cleaning supplies, thank goodness) and what the general state of the room was (slightly dusty, very dark). Though the walls and rugs were in warm shades of red and brown, the whole castle had a gloomy, foreboding feel to it that wasn’t just the disturbing tapestries. It was like something had a presence here, something besides Rumpelstiltskin, and it _sensed_ her. It wanted her to sense _it_.

Near the end of the corridor there was a staircase leading downwards, and for lack of anywhere else to go she decided to take it. The steps spiraled downwards, leading down to the ground through some sort of tower. At the bottom of the steps there was a heavy wooden door with rusty hinges, and after a bit of pushing it came open so quickly that Belle nearly fell through.

Stumbling forward, she blinked in the sunlight of a high walled rose garden.

The air was thick with the perfume of the crimson flowers, sticky sweet and intoxicating. Honestly, Belle had never been extremely fond of roses. Everyone said that the stupid, thorny thing stood for love and passion, but the only thing they had ever given her was a pleasing smell and many, many pricks from thorns. They were beautiful, but untouchable little monsters, and difficult to work with on a gardening level. 

Around the rest of the garden there were shade trees with large leaves, a few stone benches, and various types of exotic flora peeked out from every corner, but the large space was mostly infested with roses. They were badly in need of pruning, stretching to cover the walls, overtake some of the less populous plants. The hottest part of the day had yet to come, and Belle decided to stay outside and tackle what she thought would prove to be the worst of her tasks before the heat of the day came along. 

However, there didn’t seem to be any gardening tools. The paths were made of smooth white stones that crunched softly underfoot when you walked, looping around the large area. At the far end of the path there was a gate in the wall, nearly hidden from sight by a combination of the roses and a large patch of ivy winding around the iron bars.

Beyond the gate, a path of the same smooth white stone lead down a hill and to a lake, and there was a large stretch of forest beyond that. Something told her it wasn’t a good idea to go exploring just now. There was something tugging at her, like she was attached to a string or a child was pulling at the hem of her skirt, urging her to go one way or the other. This particular force was urging Belle back through the garden door, and she had no better option than to follow it.

This time the door didn’t lead back up a staircase, though. In fact, there wasn’t a staircase in sight, but a long corridor with a red rug running down the center. Magic, no doubt- Belle was beginning to expect the very stones had a mind of their own, or something close to it. The passage led her past the kitchens, through a twisting series of hallways lined with more tapestries and stained glass windows, until she finally reached an area of the castle that… Well, for lack of any better explanation, it simply _felt_ different.

There was something in the air, perhaps, almost like the force that was tugging her along, dragging her towards this place. To the right of her, a staircase spiraled upwards, and she followed it, footsteps patting lightly on the bare stone floor.

X

She was coming.

Rumpelstiltskin could feel her, reaching out, looking for something. She probably didn’t even know what she was doing, even though it was a rudimentary form of a seeking spell. He would have given her two more days before giving her some way to find him by non-magical means, but it seemed that events had taken a turn of their own.

Upstairs, in the largest (though large was hardly the word for the space, which was perhaps fifteen paces across) of all the towers, the Dark One carried out his work. He wasn’t stupid- even if one has power, that doesn’t mean by any stretch of the imagination that one knows how to use it.

Take Belle, for example. The girl had so much magic at her disposal that it was leaking out of her, doing things that her subconscious mind was instructing it to do, already attuned to her will like a sorcerer that had trained for a century. Magic was wild by nature, but Belle’s magic was special.

Her magic was like his own. 

Oh, everyone called him the Dark One, but that never pertained to his magic, only to the accursed dagger that kept him in this physical manifestation of darkness. Good and evil were purposes, things magic can be applied as a tool to achieve, but never something branded into the craft itself, or into the type of magic that happened to be branded into you. 

Yes, Belle French was pumping raw power, untapped and uncontrolled. It was a good thing she had a strong will, otherwise the bloody clerics would have picked up on her mishaps sooner. He imagined she’d been trying to keep it under wraps, so to speak, but potential is potential and power is power, and sooner or later some kind of training becomes a necessity if you don’t want it to burst.

Rumpelstiltskin had heard from various sources about the Baron’s daughter from the time she was born. The first had come from Maleficent, who was present at the christening, and the next several years information had been siphoned to him from the Black Forest Witch. Unbeknownst to anyone in the household, Totenkinder had posed as one of the staff members until she was sure that little Belle would keep her magic. After that things had been rather bland until the clerics started watching her, sometime around her seventeenth birthday.

As soon as he’d heard the clerics were after her, he knew that she would be taking the road towards the Dark Castle. It was practically impossible that she wouldn’t- her magic would be pulling her towards the nearest thing that could help her, and in her state she would have no power to resist the insistent magical tugging she might have been feeling or even know what was happening. It just so happened that the nearest thing that could help her was Rumpelstiltskin.

The original plan had been to simply smuggle her out- get her far away and put her in the hands of some other great power. However, after taking a look at her he’d known that there was only one person who could train her properly. He really hated students- hadn’t taken one in centuries, but he was testing the waters with this one. She was brave, she had a strong heart, and she was kind. It only helped her case that she had tried to bargain with him, and that she was going to actually do some work around the place.

Things were going quickly, and that was fine by him. Even if she turned out to be horrible at the craft he was sure she would be useful for _something_. If she turned out to be extremely adept- even better- she would prove to be a useful tool in her time.

Ah. And there she was now.

X

She found him at the top of the tower, looking around a tiny room for something. It seemed that his strange coat and mightier-than-thou manner was reserved for people he thought suspicious, or wanted to make a particular impression on. Belle had seen the castle alchemists at work before in the still, and though she could tell this room was far more than a still, he seemed… peaceful. She still couldn’t quite get used to the strange color of his skin- just looking at the texture made her curious to touch it, made her wonder if his hand would still be warm and dry like when she shook it before. Rumpelstiltskin flitted around in a manner that was almost entrancing, and Belle had to shake herself as she walked inside the open door, glancing around.

The little circular room was packed full of bottles and boxes of all sizes, different alchemical instruments, and scrolls lying on tables and generally shoved wherever they would fit. There was a table in the middle of the room, also circular, which was cluttered with a few of the larger bottles sitting on top of a star chart. On the far left there was a small fireplace with a small pot hanging on a hook, and the Spinner was feeding tiny yellow flowers into the strange-smelling brew. Belle timidly walked inside to peek at the chart, fingers nearly brushing against the old, cracking parchment when Rumpelstiltskin turned.

“Ah, so you’ve found me, I see. Very good.”

“Was I not supposed to?”

“Not many do. Your magic was reaching out- I could feel it probing this place, searching for something.”

“And it found you?”

“It found my magic,” he shrugged. “And the magic of the grounds of course. The entire estate was constructed by magical means, and thus has a few very peculiar aspects to it.”

“The doors,” Belle said, suddenly realizing. That was why the entrance to the gardens had changed, and… another realization suddenly dawned on her. “And the tapestries.” She hadn’t been crazy- if magic was in the house then wouldn’t it also be in the tapestries? Maybe they really _had_ moved.

“Yes,” Rumpelstiltskin nodded, impressed, and turned back to his potion. “You’re an observant one.” He set the potion to boil and corked the bottle with the strange yellow flower before speaking to Belle again.

“Now, since you’ve found me it’s time for your lesson. I expect you have questions.”

“That’s an understatement,” Belle muttered. 

“They’ll be answered in due time.” He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Do you remember what I said about the nature of magic?”

“It’s in everything. You said it’s in the stones and the earth, and in people, but not everyone knows how to use it,” Belle said, trying to get the words right.

“Except it’s not just knowing how to use it, dearie, it’s the physical ability to use it. Your magic is a gift, but you simply don’t know how to properly care for it.”

“Care for it?” she raised an eyebrow. Magic was a force, wasn’t it? How could it be cared for?

“You have to use your magic, keep it from building up inside you to a point that you can’t stop it from coming out. Magic is a gift, yes, but it’s also a kind of sentient force, and you have to live in harmony with it from this moment forward. It isn’t out there alone, dearie. Magic is in _here_.” Rumpelstiltskin tapped on the area over her heart with a long finger, looking into her eyes for a moment before abruptly backing away. “Questions?”

Yes, she had questions. There were a thousand questions rumbling around inside her brain, but she knew she had to use them wisely in order to get the answers she needed. Finally she settled on one, the one question about magic that she didn’t understand. If it was natural and ingrained in living and nonliving beings, then why did the clerics…?

“Why do the clerics think I sold my soul?” she asked. Rumpelstiltskin looked surprised.

“They _what_?” he blinked, tilting his head as if he was having trouble hearing her.

“They asked me if I sold my soul for my magic,” Belle clarified, hoping that it was something easily answered. Blessedly, he seemed to know the answer, but still looked something between shocked and angry.

“Magical abilities are sometimes given, and sometimes bought and paid for. As I said, the price… the price is quite dear. I don’t think a girl like yourself would have it in you.” His eyes flitted around the room, looking everywhere and at everything except her face.

“What does that mean?” she wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or indignant.

“It means that you don’t have the stomach to take innocent life,” he snapped. “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life. That is the ultimate price for magic, and those who slip so far down that they’re willing to pay it are commonly seen as devoid of souls.” He was raging, almost screaming now. In a very short time she’d learned that the Spinner was prone to violent mood swings, and now she was witnessing another of them. True to form, he clmed almost immediately. “I don’t see why they would expect an innocent girl to have committed such an act, though. What exactly happened the last time someone noticed your magic?” 

It took a moment for Belle to put her finger on it- the incident had been perhaps a week ago, and it had been what triggered the clerics coming for her, who were now adamant that her magic would not simply go away, and was not harmless or menial.

“About a week ago my father and I were in the village, and a man tried to kidnap one of the children,” she whispered, remembering. The little boy had been screaming for his mother, and the man had been pressing a knife to his throat. She’d been absolutely horrified, unable to speak or even think before… “He disappeared. We never saw him again.”

She had been inconsolable for three days, and then the clerics started their investigations. After that her personal views no longer mattered, and it was time for Belle to become the brave and dutiful daughter who had no idea what happened or how.

Which was, in part, entirely true.

Rumpelstiltskin simply pulled his brew off the hook where it sat bubbling, unwilling to discuss the matter further, and at that moment Belle took his warning not to ask questions you didn’t want to know the answers to very seriously.

“I will give you one last chance,” he said smoothly, his mouth on one track and his movements on another, preforming delicate motions with his hands, like he was weaving invisible threads. “You may wish to relinquish your power. If that is the case, our deal is forfeit, but if not then you must perform the binding ritual.”

“What’s that?” the potion smelled of the yellow flowers, but had turned a strange shade of orange wile hanging over the fire.

“The pact between a mentor and their apprentice. It’s practically sacred in the case of magic, and if you choose to accept then we will conduct it on the next new moon. You have until then to decide, but be warned that if you don’t choose, then I will choose for you.”

Belle knew her stars- the new moon would come in one week. She had one week to learn, to mull this over, to decide her fate for the rest of her life. Somehow one week didn’t seem enough time for this, but a week was all she had, so a week it would be. Rumpelstiltskin finished with the potion, funneling it into a bottle and corking it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what it was.

“Now, your training begins today, and lesson number one is simple awareness,” he said, turning back to her. “Magic is always present, and because of that we’re no more aware of it than we are of the air we breathe or the stars in the sky. You have to learn to feel it, sense it. Know that it’s in you and learn how to shape it. Close your eyes.”

Belle hesitated, suspicious, but shut her eyes anyways. 

“Don’t think about it. Just feel it. Magic is inside you- it’s there, it’s what brought you to this tower. _Feel_ it.” She noticed him shifting around her, one of his hands brushing her shoulder.

She couldn’t feel anything.

In fact, the only thing she really felt was silly. There had been the tugging, the insistent force that led her here, but now… nothing.

“Relax, dearie,” he crooned. “Power is closely entwined with our hearts and desires, and you can’t find it if you look for it with the conscious mind.”  
So Belle let her consciousness wander.

She thought about her father, about the people at home who might be worried for her. Truth be told, she was worried for them. For all the good they claimed to do, the clerics were merciless people, and she didn’t want her family dying because they hadn’t caught her. She thought about the Dark Castle, and the wooden wizard on the library doors, and the life that she had suddenly been thrown into without batting an eyelash.

There were so many things she wanted to say, so many places to see one last time, but it was silly to want that when she had barely made it out alive. This was her life now, this was the only path that had opened before her, the window when the doors were locked on all sides. It would simply be easier if she knew how things were getting on without her.

And for all her thinking, she realized she felt nothing but numb, indifferent. She hadn’t allowed herself to think too much, because stopping to think could mean her life, but now… now there was a buzzing in her ears that she hadn’t noticed before, and a pressure in the room, and a strange sensation on her skin. Now there were rocks in her throat, words crying out for what she’d done to her family- she couldn’t help her magic, but she could have done more to save them, to make sure of their safety.

For the first time since she left her home, a tiny, hot tear rolled down Belle’s cheek. A hand brushed it away gently and her eyes fluttered open, finding Rumpelstiltskin staring at her with a pleased expression, finger extended as if for a bird to perch on. Only it wasn’t a bird on the tip of his finger- it was her tear. He dropped it into a tiny bottle, corked the bottle, and tucked it away.

“We’ll need that later,” he explained. Belle bit her lip, unsure what to think and suddenly very aware that the tingling and the pressure was still around her, almost like a tangible substance she was wading in. Tears still fell, one by one, but she forced herself to breathe normally as they rolled down her face.

Rumpelstiltskin looked as though he didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t been around a crying woman… well, not since the dagger, if you didn’t count the ones who were also screaming and running away. He wasn’t an ordinary man, and he was unaccustomed to offering comfort. The last person he had ever comforted was Bae, and then he’d lost him. Since then there had been no comfort, not for him or anyone else, but this girl… this girl was standing in front of him and crying. She was looking him in the eyes and trying not to shake, when every other girl who had even set foot in his castle had been a sobbing mess with no real reason for their grief.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, clearing her throat. “What I am supposed to be feeling?”

“You tell me,” he wouldn’t approach her. He wouldn’t know what to do if she approached him- take her hand? Offer condolences? _Hug_ her? 

“I feel like… something’s in the air. It’s like after it rains, and it’s muggy outside, like a residue?” she bit her lip as she tried to explain, hands moving slightly and voice shaking. “It’s like a pressure around me, but it’s not uncomfortable.”

“That’s it.” Rumpelstiltskin nodded. 

“That’s magic?” she seemed utterly amazed, like she wished it were something more complicated, but sometimes the simplest things are the most powerful, and the hardest to manage.

“It’s in you, and it’s also everywhere else at once. Let it guide you, let it take you where it wants you to go. Get a feel for what you’re carrying.” The last phrase was a dismissal, and Belle could see that, immediately heading for the door.

“I expect you for dinner at seven o’ clock.” Rumpelstiltskin threw over his shoulder. Belle couldn’t speak- she was having a hard enough time keeping herself together. Now that the pent up tears were beginning to flow, she couldn’t stop them, no matter how pathetic she felt for crying. Somehow her half-blind twists and turns led her to the rose garden once more, and she found a quiet place under a tree to cry herself out, hoping she was far enough away that no one would hear.

Be brave, they said. Be brave. The hiccupping sobs shook her small frame for a long while, but eventually she stood, dusted herself off, and walked back inside. Surely there was something more productive she could be doing… like looking for gardening tools.

X

Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t hear her, though he might have if he wanted to. He did see her, however, from the small window in his tower. He could look out into anywhere he wanted, see the view from any window, and he watched from one of the stained glass monstrosities on the back side of the castle.

Something about her didn’t sit right with him. At first he thought she could be useful as a tool, as someone who could be bent to a purpose. It didn’t look like that was going to happen- her will was too strong. Unfortunately, Rumpelstiltskin’s experience with women of her age and circumstances (though she still seemed a girl compared to his many years) was that they were weepy and self-pitying. Best not underestimate this one. She still needed to be trained, of course, and perhaps in time he could still find a use for her of a more magical nature than cleaning the castle… He simply hoped she didn’t think he was doing this out of the goodness of his heart. That would be extremely stupid.

He was the Dark One.

He had no heart, and no goodness left in it.


	4. Binding

Belle found a solitary spot under a tree in the garden to shed her tears. No one should be able to hear her from here, as it was around the back side of the house. She felt silly crying over this, even as her body was shaking with uncontrollable tears. More than anything she felt ridiculous for crying in front of the Dark One, the Spinner, the most powerful man in the world. Tears had no point now, nothing except emotional release, which they weren’t providing.

The magic had settled around her now, the pressure easing off to something less like a headache and more like a mother’s embrace, or a warm, heavy blanket on a cold night. It was comforting, familiar, something that was there all along but unappreciated and unnoticed until she needed it.

She didn’t see him after that incident for a full three days except for at dinner, and when she finally found him again, guided by the same tugging sensation, he simply shooed her away to the library and directed her to a dusty back corner filled with magical textbooks. Of course, that was fine with Belle. She liked the library, and Troubadour proved excellent company once you got used to how he moved around. His consciousness could pass into any one of his carvings around the large room, and then the carving could move within a certain area. He occasionally bemoaned the fact that no one had ever carved a statue of him from enchanted wood so that he could move freely, but he didn’t seem to mind too terribly much.

Belle’s duties around the castle were mostly confined to cleaning the dining room, the entryway, and a very large and dusty attic that she’d uncovered, and tending those infernal roses in the garden. This meant that she had plenty of time to read after dinner, even though most of the textbooks were far too complicated for her level of magic, and she was only mildly competent at the most basic of tasks, such as lighting a fire or making an object float through the air towards her. There was a rather messy incident with a pair of garden shears that resulted in the quick perfection of floating objects- though she wasn’t badly hurt, the gash on her arm would mean longer sleeves for at least a week or so. Even though there wasn’t anyone here but Rumpelstiltskin, and she supposed she shouldn’t care what he thought, she would feel silly having to explain what happened if he saw the mark.

Most of her nights were spent in the library, poring over magical texts until her eyes were sore and she fell asleep on the sofa with a book in her lap. Belle had such trouble sleeping in her room- if she wasn’t dead tired when she tried to sleep, she wouldn’t sleep at all, and the library was such a nicer place. The room smelled of ink and old paper, it was always warm even when the rest of the castle seemed to be made of ice, and sleep came easily there. It became such a regularity that she hardly ever slept in a nightdress, and would only change clothes for dinner and try to look like she hadn’t spent a night amongst the books again.

As the night of the new moon and the binding ritual drew nearer, Belle began to worry. Not about her choice to go through with it, but about the ritual itself. The textbooks that she had read suggested that it wasn’t so much a contract between mentor and apprentice as it was a contract between a person and their magic. It was a way to accept magic into yourself, fully and completely, and after that there was no turning back.

What if she did something wrong?

What if she wasn’t strong enough?

The ceremony was supposed to be rigorous, but according to the books each wizard or witch conducted it differently, with different effects on each student. There was no telling what to expect, and she still had no clue on the night it took place.

 

X

 

Belle met Rumpelstiltskin in the gardens near midnight, the roses making eerie black shapes in the night. He passed her a heavy cloak, muttering something about the cold, and bid her follow him down the path of white stones, which seemed to glitter with an ethereal light that was all their own. 

The pebbles crunched slightly as they walked down the path, heading for the thick growth of ivy that covered a large wrought iron gate that was the only interruption in the high garden wall. The plants seemed to shrink aside at a single touch from the Dark One, and the lock on the gate clicked open. It swung outwards with a creak, revealing the rest of the path that led down a hill to a large lake. 

“After you,” Rumpelstiltskin smirked, gesturing for Belle to go through the gate. She cinched the cloak around her shoulders, picked up her skirts, and walked towards the shore of the lake.

The Lake of Dreams, Rumpelstiltskin had called it. From here it looked like a manifestation of nightmares. The binding ritual was usually preformed in a place of magical significance, and if there ever was a place filled with magic, this was it. Standing on the shore, you could almost feel it teeming in the air. The binding ritual was traditionally preformed at the witching hour- midnight. Belle had heard the first hour of the morning called that before, but only in jest or on All Hallows’ Eve, never with actual magical intent.

The water glistened blackly, eerily still, and Belle was surprised when the Spinner waded in up to his knees, holding out a hand towards her as if he expected her to follow his lead. She took his hand gingerly, not bothering to shed her shoes as she stepped into the water. The black liquid seemed to be impenetrable to light, and was entirely too viscous to be only water, thick and soupy and surprisingly warm. It soaked into her cloak and skirts, weighing them down until they felt like lead around her ankles, threatening to drag her down into the murky depths.

Rumpelstiltskin took something from the inside of his vest- a small phial made of clear glass. After removing to cork, he upended it into the lake, and Belle suddenly realized what was in the bottle: her tear. Even though the water had barely rippled when they waded in, the tiny drop seemed to cause every drop of water in the lake to vibrate, and then to settle back down around the two beings standing near the shore. The Spinner still hadn’t let go of her hand, and he held it firmly as he spoke.

“This is my contract, be it fully binding,” His voice echoed through the grounds, reverberating through every tree and leaf and blade of grass with a power she didn’t know he possessed. “On this night, as creation is her witness, this girl confirms her standing as a woman of the craft and enters into her magical studies under my tutelage until such a time as she deems necessary to leave.” He turned to Belle, his voice softer. “Do you accept this?”

“Yes,” She whispered. “I do.” She was suddenly very conscious of the ground beneath her feet, and the all too still water around her legs, and the vastness of the sky above her, speckled with stars and going on upwards forever and ever, and here she stood, an ant among the expanse of forever. Rumpelstiltskin scrutinized her for a minute, judging her every action, the sincerity of her words, and nodded once.

“By the power of earth,” he began. The ground began to shake beneath her feet. At first softly, slowly, but it built in power to a quake, Belle’s feet sinking in the mud at the bottom of the lake. 

“Air,” The wind picked up, adding its howls to the growing quake. Leaves blew past and Belle’s hair whipped across her face, though Rumpelstiltskin stood by, so calm it was almost scary, still holding Belle’s hand. 

“Water,” The lake bubbled up in an unnatural boil, and the water rose higher in swirls around where they stood, spraying their skin with a fine black mist. Still the earth shook and the wind ripped through the trees, and Belle had no idea how Rumpelstiltskin made his voice heard among all the chaos.

“And fire,” the sky exploded. A thousand shooting stars burst through the air, white tails streaking across the night, as the quake reached its highest point and the wind threatened to pick her up and toss her around. It would have it not for the water, pulling downwards and dragging her towards the black depths, and the fire above her raining down on all sides of the lake, but never coming past the water’s edge. Still the Dark One continued speaking, unphased.

“As all the elements witness and converge to one form,” She would die from this, die from all the pressure. The fire and the water, the wind and the air; all of them were channeling into her, into the very core of her being, searching for some invisible door that would allow them to enter and take root in her heart and her soul. Belle was drowning in pure, raw power, her only anchor a warm, scaly hand that just kept her consciousness on the edge of reality. Yes, she would die from this, but dying wouldn’t be so terrible, would it? It was an insane thought after all that she’d come through, but surely death like this was preferable to death by the clerics, which would mean weeks or months of terrible torture until you breathed your last. Her head was pounding, and the air was sucked greedily from her lungs, refusing to return no matter how hard she tried to breathe.

“I acknowledge you as a woman of the craft, and as my apprentice.” Rumpelstiltskin finally finished his statement. Belle’s world tilted, spun upside down so that the sky was the blackness of the lake and she was standing in the stars, and the earth was somewhere so far gone that it no longer existed to her. She fell to her knees in the water of the Lake of Dreams, and crashed against the shore.

X

The water calmed, and the air stilled around Belle’s small body. The earth stopped shaking and the comets in the sky vanished. Rumpelstiltskin knelt beside her momentarily, her body half in and half out of the black not-quite-water of the lake, the dark liquid lapping at her greedily, wishing to draw her in but unable to find a place to grasp.

She was breathing, strong and steady.

A victory, then.

Most all apprentices collapsed during the binding ritual, leaving the mentor to finish it on their own, but Belle had managed to stay standing. The influx of power that the new witch or wizard would receive never failed to knock them out at the end, but even Rumpelstiltskin had to admit that he was impressed. It took a strong will and a mind certain of what it wanted to make it through the entire ceremony, and much to his surprise the lake hadn’t tried to claim her.

Or rather, it had tried, but he hadn’t needed to go Belle fishing.

The Lake of Dreams, rather aptly named, latches onto ones deepest hopes and desires, and uses it to pull you down to its deep depths. As a consequence, the water is extremely magical and the lake in general a place of pure magical concentration, though no one knew for sure what lay at the bottom simply because no one had ever found their way out again. Did those who were dragged down die? Not likely. A place of such magic wasn’t one to take lives for its store More likely they were living in some kind of delusion down in the black, the water drawing off those fulfilled dreams and unlived lives for its source of power.

The Dark one gathered his new apprentice in his arm, her weight slight even with the added heavy, sodden clothing. Her head lulled against his shoulder, resting peacefully. It was another tradition of the binding ritual for the master to carry the apprentice back, or if the master was older of simply not strong enough, to wait for the apprentice to wake and walk back with them. Carrying was a more traditional undertaking, as it was meant to symbolize that the burden of the apprentice to learn the craft properly was now on the master. However, rather than thinking of the symbolic implications of this act, Rumpelstiltskin found himself wondering when the last time was that he held someone in his arms. 

Belle’s chest moved up and down rhythmically, brown curls splayed over her shoulders. Surely she would never let him carry her willingly if she was conscious- no one would, especially not one as independent as she. The girl didn’t seem to have qualms about coming too close to him, though, so perhaps… but now was not the time to wish for company. Now was not the time to wish for human touch. He told himself he let her him because she was useful, because there was a chance to use her for something. She could be another of his pawns, could she not? A small piece in a grander scheme?

But in what he supposed must be the remains of a heart, he knew that ever since he found out she couldn’t be confined or controlled, that possibility disappeared. Belle was different- she was strong. She was mad. She came here all on her own, and she wasn’t afraid of him, and with a breed of magic that was the same as his own, someone that only he could teach. He couldn’t lie; that particular fact made him feel rather possessive of the little thing. If he didn’t teach her she would either be destroyed or destroy herself, possibly taking most of their world with her. Belle was an anomaly, something that had been brought to him by fate or luck or demons sent to curse him, but for whatever reason she was here, and she was fascinating.

Seeing her walk the halls, having occasional conversations with her, seeing the rosy cheeks and bright blue-eyed beauty of one unblemished by immortality as he had been… well, it was like a sort of drug to one who had lived as long as he. It was _fascinating_. The curiosity, the hours that she spent outside tending to the roses that he knew she detested (her arms were scratched, along with a nasty gash from the pruning shears, and he knew she was wearing long sleeves so as not to show it), the way she would sit buried in her books four hours on end was _fascinating_.

He would train her in full, and train her without breaking her of her will and her spirit, if that was at all possible. If.

Training was a rigorous task, and many a witch and wizard had failed at their training or gone down the wrong path. Some of them had lost themselves in the power, and some had found themselves in it. All in all, he would try to keep he the same, the fragile rose blooming in a long magical winter, but whether or not she was able to thrive was entirely up to Belle.

And she thought the worst was over after escaping the clerics.

 

X

 

Belle opened her eyes slowly, squinting in the faint light. From the smell, she was in the library, and as her eyes adjusted her suspicion was confirmed. However, she couldn’t judge how she wound up in the library after the binding ritual last night.

Her skirts were dry, and there was no stain from the black water of the lake. The cloak was gone, replaced by a blanket and a small pillow under her head. She sat up slowly, drawing the blanket closer around her. Last night might have been a dream, for all that she knew.

“Good morning, Miss Belle.” Troubadour’s voice came from a nearby column, and she turned to see the wizard’s smiling face looking down at her. 

“Good morning,” She mumbled, rubbing her eyes. Her mouth felt full of cotton, and there was an awful taste lingering on her tongue.

“I’m surprised you’re not still asleep. I would be if I were you, and by that I mean you need to be,” The wizard said. “The binding ritual wears out even the toughest of us.” 

“So it wasn’t a dream,” She said slowly.

“Of course not! Haven’t seen comets like that in over two hundred years!” the wizard made a grand motion over his head, as if to mimic the fiery tails trailing from the stars the night before. “But you really do need to sleep, princess. I’ll answer all your questions later.” She smiled slightly at the wizard’s pet name for her, regardless of the fact that she wasn’t a princess. If there were children around where his carvings were, she could imagine Troubadour as a kind of affectionate wooden grandfather. 

In truth, Belle would welcome curling back up on the couch and going back to sleep, but she had things to do if she wanted to continue her training. She had heard only one of Rumpelstiltskin’s tirades in the past, from her spot outside the door to his study, and from the sound of it she didn’t want one directed at her. Belle took a breath and stood, but the world tilted sideways, and then went completely upside down as she crashed back onto the couch.

“I told you not to get up,” the wizard snapped, though Belle was no longer sure where his voice was coming from. She was still waiting for the room to right itself. “You had a lot of magical input last night, and you’re not supposed to move until you’ve slept it off and you’ve had time to absorb it. Orders from the Spinner himself.”

Rumpelstiltskin had told him that? He didn’t want her to move, or even to do anything but sleep? Driven by the fact that a man who didn’t seem to care for anything or anyone would have the thought to tell her not to move after what had happened last night, and the world still tossing and turning around her, Belle nodded slowly and shut her eyes. 

All the magic around her was so different. If she had been made aware of her magic a week ago, truly aware, that was only a drop in the bucket compared to what she was feeling now. The power was overflowing, filling her to a point that she felt she might drown in it, and it was horrible and frightening, and she wanted to run away and lock it inside herself forever.

Except that as much as it was frightening, it was also warm and beautiful and _right_ , and she wanted to run to it and jump and lose herself in the magic. It was so natural, this whole new part of her that had never been accessed before, so completely a part of her that magic ran through her veins with blood, and if she cut herself she might bleed magic as well. That was how innate it was, how perfect and integral, but also how dangerous. There had to be a balance, even as the looming waves of power dragged her across the rocks, there had to be a way to walk along the shore and let the water lap at her feet without pulling her under. There had to be a balance _somewhere_ … she only had to find it.

When she was nearly asleep, one more pressing thought came to her

“Troubadour?”

“Hm?” 

“How did I get back here?” It was a mystery that she hadn’t thought of an answer to, and something that she was extremely curious about.

“You can thank the Spinner for that. Now, _sleep_.”

She was too tired to do anything but obey.

 

X

 

Around sunset, Belle pulled herself off of the couch and back up to her room. She would be just in time for dinner at this rate, regardless of the fact that she wasn’t hungry. Rumpelstiltskin was always quite particular about their dinners together, whether it was because he wanted conversation or wanted to know that she hadn’t run away, or perhaps for the sake of simple human contact, she didn’t know. At any rate, she would show up faithfully every evening, and today would be do different. She changed into a dark green dress of soft velvet, plain but appropriate, and made her way down to the dining room. However, when she arrived Rumpelstiltskin was not seated at the table as he usually had been. In fact, the person standing in the middle of the room was not Rumpelstiltskin at all.

She was tall and had a curving, busty figure, with white hair piled in curls o the top of her head, and she turned around at the sound of Belle’s footsteps. Her lips were as black as her dress, which flared at the ankles and trailed the floor as she walked. Two dark eyes were wide with false innocence, a less-than-well-meaning smile painted across her face. She was beautiful, her only peculiarities being the large seashell on a leather cord around her neck, and the fact that her pale skin was not the ivory color that it should have been, but a soft shade of lavender.

Actually, Belle felt quite inadequate standing next to her. She was practically vibrating with the amount of magic around her, and clearly wasn’t there for Belle, so she must want to see Rumpelstiltskin. Wanting to make a deal? Or perhaps a lover? Did the Dark One have lovers? He hardly seemed like the loving type in all the stories, though her impression had been quite different. The Dark One- the person who had seemed utterly distressed at the sight of her tears, and who had put a blanket over her while she slept in the library (Who else could have done it? Troubadour had no way to do so, and they were the only other two in the castle).

“Hello, sweetheart,” the woman said, her sickening smile growing wider.

“Who are you?” Belle asked, freezing at the top of the stairs.

“That hardly matters, don’t you think?” the woman cocked her head to the side, looking over Belle with the same careful scrutiny that Rumpelstiltskin had used before.

“No.” Now was hardly the time to be polite. If an apology was in order later, then so be it, but there was a strange woman here, and Rumpelstiltskin was nowhere in sight. 

“Oh, don’t worry about mes” She laughed, her voice rich and throaty. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Forgive me,” Belle began coldly, “I haven’t come in contact with many magical acquaintances.” Some part of her seemed to be pulled down the staircase, towards the visitor, but the logical (and afraid) part of her mind kept her firmly planted where she was. Footsteps came from behind her, and relief washed over her at the sound of a familiar voice.

“As is fitting,” Rumpelstiltskin said, slipping an arm around her waist. He seemed oddly confident leading her down the staircase, and his strange scaled coat had returned. However, his grip on her waist was just a bit too tight to be easy, more like a possessive grasp than a gentle grip… and she wasn’t sure how she liked it.

“Ah, hello, Rumple!” the woman clapped her hands together in delight.

“Ursula.” The Dark One nodded curtly. “What is it you want, and please don’t make me disappointed that I agreed to see you. You’re interrupting my dinner.”

“She your new plaything?” The woman whose name was apparently Ursula nodded towards Belle, crossing her arms. “Are you sleeping with her or just toying with her?”

Rumpelstiltskin felt the girl go rigid under his grasp, and he swore to himself he would put a knife through the bloody sea witch’s heart the next chance he got.

“That’s my business, as is whatever deal you wish to make,” he snapped. Belle didn’t relax- he could almost hear her heart fluttering in her chest. Ursula took a step closer to her, gazing into Belle’s soft blue eyes with her own coal black ones.

“I could give you everything you ever wanted, honey,” she whispered. “You want to go back to your old life? I could do that. You want a handsome prince to come and save you? I can do that to. Any dream, any wish, any deep little dark desire lurking at the bottom of your heart. I can make it happen.” The promises were seductive, even to someone who knew it wasn’t true. For a moment, and only a moment, Belle believed her. Belle _wanted_ to believe her, but something about the ice in her stare and the way she licked her lips like a predator gazing on its prey made her flinch away from Ursula and her promises. 

Her old life was gone, that was set in stone. This woman clearly didn’t know the extent of what had happened to her. Handsome princes were ridiculous frippery for child’s tales. Belle didn’t want a prince; she wanted love. There was a rather big difference there.

As for any dark dream… well, there are some things we don’t even divulge to our own minds. Her dream wasn’t dark, but Belle didn’t find out what it was until much, much later, and only one word came out of her mouth in response to the woman’s promises.

“No.”

Ursula drew back, something between abashed and impressed.

“You’re sure? I could bring you away from here. Give back everything you’ve lost-”

“With all due respect, no one can give me back what I’ve lost,” Belle snapped. “I have my life. That’s enough for me.”

“Fine,” Ursula shrugged and waved her hand, the loss of one girl meaning little to her in the grand scheme. A scroll unfurled out of thin air, which she handed to the Spinner. “Look over my proposal and see what you think. Let me know if you want to deal.”

Rumpelstiltskin plucked the paper from her long fingers, and with a puff of smoke she was gone. His grip on Belle’s waist loosened and then was gone, releasing her, but she didn’t move from his side

“Lousy sea witch,” he muttered. “No one come in here without my consent, but I swear more than half of them leave in smoke.” He stalked off to sit at the head of the table, eyes scanning over the scroll from Ursula.

“Who was she?” Belle asked, still in the same spot.

“A nuisance. She’s a stupid old sea witch who still thinks she can beat me at my own game.” He scratched out a line or two on the scroll with a pen, made a note here or there.

“Why didn’t you say anything when she…?” Belle didn’t quite know how to finish that sentence. What exactly _had_ the witch done? She walked a little closer to him, brow furrowed. He looked up, surprised.

“You had to choose for yourself,” he shrugged, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Sea witches deal in souls. They work with deep desires and things that you don’t even know that you want until they offer them. I couldn’t make the choice for you- you had to say no for yourself.” He went back to reading the paper, but Belle wasn’t done with him yet.

“What if I said yes?”

“What did I tell you before, dearie?” It was a standard answer along the lines of “you really don’t want to know.” He wasn’t refusing the information, but reminding her of his rule- he would tell her, but the answer was not going to be pleasant.

“I want to know,” she said softly. Rumpelstiltskin sighed and looked up at her, placing his hands on the table.

“I told you that sea witches deal in souls. She would have taken a part of you- your voice, your hope, your memories, something vital to your being that makes you who you are- in return for her magical services. It’s why she keeps that shell around her neck. It’s storage.”

“Oh.” The small sound was all she could manage. 

Her soul could have been tampered with. Her _soul_.

And he would have done nothing?

X

Neither one of them ate dinner that night. They stayed in the dining room, though, talking about sea witches and the different ways they used to trick people, and a few other useful tips should any wily wizard come into her path.

He never admitted that he would have stepped in if anything went wrong, if Belle showed even the slightest inclination of saying yes. 

He never admitted that his grip around her waist had been a show of possession as much as a show of power.

He never admitted that he was proud of her for saying no. A small girl with nothing to lose if she had agreed had said no, simply because she knew that Ursula was speaking beyond the power that she possessed.

If he didn’t know better, he might suspect he was starting to _like_ this girl.


	5. Bellflower

The library, which had been sealed and dusty from disuse for many years, was now littered with paper and stacks of books, becoming a sort of recluse for Belle. The more time she spent with Rumpelstiltskin, the more she became accustomed to his temper, and the more she was able to judge the times when he needed someone to scold him and the times he needed to be alone. On the rare occasions when he needed to be alone, or on the frequent occasions when she wanted nothing more than to momentarily loose herself in something, Belle would retreat into the library amongst the books, drinking in the smell of the pages and the feel of the worn leather covers, drowning in papers and ink as she studies the magical textbooks, or wrapped in a blanket and immersed in a novel of some sort. Troubadour usually engaged her in conversation during these times, but the wizard was usually a good judge of when she needed her privacy.

As much as she absolutely hated the roses, the flowers thrived under her gentle hand. They had been wild before, practically choking the life out of everything else in the garden, but through careful pruning and prodding, weeding, and lots of pricks and scrapes from the thorns, the garden looked like a completely different world. If things kept going this way, Belle thought she might even grow fond of the infernal plants… possibly. Perhaps after the cuts on her hands and arms had healed she would stop associating the deep red color of the petals with blood and murder, with the fate that awaited her at the hands of the clerics.

One or two days of the week would be devoted entirely to her time with Rumpelstiltskin, but those days were as unpredictable as the ocean waves. He would come running around like a madman looking for her and burst into the library or the gardens, wanting to show her something or teach her something, and whatever she was doing would have to be put aside for the moment. Rumpelstiltskin never used the side door, and Troubadour always snapped at him when he came to fetch Belle for her lessons. The few times she went to seek him out herself she found him spinning peacefully at his wheel, so content that she didn’t have the heart to disturb him (“I like to watch the wheel,” he’d said once, “It helps me forget”). Well, the few successful times. When Rumpelstiltskin wanted to remain hidden, he did a very good job of it, and no matter how she searched, Belle couldn’t find him anywhere when he didn’t want to be found. He’d only made one comment about this, mentioning that when the time cane for her to learn, _he_ would find _her_. That didn’t stop her from trying on some days, though, especially the rainy ones.

She learned her way around the Dark Castle bit by bit, and the time that wasn’t spent studying magical texts, cleaning, or practicing with Rumpelstiltskin (which wasn’t much) was devoted to learning her way around. After all, if this didn’t work out, she thought with a swallow, she’d be here forever. Best learn her way around now.

The system for getting somewhere quickly seemed to be to concentrate on where you wanted to go, and you’d end up there in a few turns. However, finding new places was more of a challenge, as wandering aimlessly could end you up in places you’d already passed over twenty times. She did have some success, however, about two weeks after the incident with the sea witch.

Any attempt to navigate the twists and turns she’d been walking for who knows how long would have been foolish, so rather than try, Belle simply walked, knowing that if fear overtook her she would find herself back at her rooms or the kitchens or somewhere equally familiar to her, and perfectly able to find her way back to wherever she needed to go. Rather than afraid, she was simply annoyed at the fact that there seemed to be an endless staircase tucked away in the corner of the Spinner’s home. She’d heard of beanstalks that grew so high they could take you through the clouds- magic beanstalks. Perhaps this was a staircase of the same nature?

But no. At the top of the staircase she found nothing more than a simple wooden door, closed and bolted but devoid of a lock, and wrenched it open with a creak. The hinges were stiff from disuse, the room itself dark, dank, and dusty. Belle used a bit of her magic to create something she’d been working on- a floating ball of light.

It was a parlor trick, according to Rumpelstiltskin, and not worth wasting time on, but she was eager to master this particular spell because it required almost no magic at all and would mean that she might never need worry about a candle again (There was also the trick of lighting the tip of a finger on fire to use as a light for a candle, but that required a great deal of focus not to burn yourself, and she hadn’t gotten that down yet). 

The small sphere cast an eerie glow around the room, and Belle saw at once that it was enormous. Shadows crept up on all sides, but three or four more of the light spheres fixed that problem. She seemed to be standing in some sort of attic, littered with trunks and treasures of all shapes and sizes, some carefully preserved in boxes or under dropcloths, and some simply tossed to the side and likely forgotten. The floor was wooden and the walls were bare paneling without windows. If someone wanted to find something in here, they would need either magical means of light or an armada of candles. 

For a moment the thought occurred that she should get back to cleaning, but it was quickly dismissed. If anything needed cleaning, it was this room. Rumpelstiltskin didn’t speak much of the castle’s previous inhabitant, but she wondered if some of the things in here might have belonged to him.  
The treasures were odd things, little trinkets (and a few very big trinkets) that someone might want for a show of power or wealth, or possibly both. The whole castle was full of treasures, though- there was even a golden fleece on display in the large dining room. What interested Belle wasn’t the treasures, but the trunks. She walked over slowly, running her hands over the faded wood.

Large white cloths had been draped over them to keep the dust off and the bugs out, and Belle gently removed them, folding the cloths carefully. They weren’t new, or even incredibly old, that much was obvious. The pattern of vines inlaid in the wood was simply and clumsily carved by inexperienced hands, and the lid was warped on one of them so that a corner of it remained slightly askew from the rest of the trunk. These would have been made for a family to keep their possessions in if they traveled around frequently, probably by the father of the household. Belle opened the one with the warped lid first, finding it the easiest to open. Inside the trunk, carefully preserved, were several sets of mean’s peasant clothing.

It was possibly that Rumpelstiltskin or the castle itself applied the same magic to this place as it did to the seemingly never-ending food supply, as the clothes hadn’t been eaten away at by moths or other bugs, and were impeccably clean, if heavily patched and worn. Along with the clothes was a plain, dark red traveling cloak and a pair of shoes, brown leather cracking apart at the soles.

On the other side of the trunk there were more clothes, but… smaller, as if for a child. They were better mended, the fabric thicker and less full of patches. Whoever had owned these had thought first of their child and then to their own needs. A child’s pair of shoes was included, well-oiled and in fairly good condition, and another cloak. 

The other two trunks were smaller, containing dishes carefully packed so that they wouldn’t crack, a few blankets, basic medical supplies, and what looked like several worn children’s toys. 

Why would the Dark One keep these? They were peasant’s belongings, certainly not worth anything to someone who had all the finery he could want at the touch of his fingertips. It seemed strange to her that something so easily come by as these would be so carefully kept. The clothes smelled faintly of straw and sheep and… something else. It was a peculiar scent, like an herb had been pressed into the folds of the fabric during packing- sharp like cinnamon, and sweet like vanilla, but nothing like either of those two at all.

“What are you doing up here, dearie?”

Belle jumped, and all five of the spheres lighting the room immediately extinguished. Rumpelstiltskin’s silhouette was outlined in the doorway, a black form in front of the light streaming in from the staircase.

“I… I was just trying to find my way around…” Belle stammered, willing her tongue to move. It was ridiculous to be scared- she hadn’t been doing anything against his wishes. She had the run of the castle, and he’d told her so many times.

“And what did you find?” his voice was even, unreadable in tone. He didn’t sound angry, more like… mystified. Belle rose and carefully picked her way through the darkness towards him.

“These trunks… they’re-” she stumbled and fell forward with a squeal, but Rumpelstiltskin caught her in a moment, his hands on her upper arms. Belle leaned against his chest, gripping his shoulders tightly to steady herself. Her gaze found his, and he immediately released her.

“What makes you curious?” The Spinner asked carefully. He was blocking the only way out- she had to answer him.

“They’re a peasant family’s belongings. What use could the Dark One have for them?” Belle searched his eyes for a long moment, and since he didn’t seem inclined to speak she continued. “Who did they belong to?”

“Me.” He said quietly, turning and retreating down the staircase. Belle blinked, confused, but gave chase down the steps.

“You? They belonged to you?” her voice echoed in the long stairwell as she ran, forced to slow down for fear of falling over her skirts.

“Once.” The single word was soft, but Bell heard it clearly. She couldn’t see him yet, but she was gaining ground. “In another life.” He didn’t volunteer any more information, but Belle was persistent. At the bottom of the stairs she caught up to him, daring to reach out and put a hand on his shoulder. He turned, a blank look in his eyes.

“So… you were a man once? An ordinary man?” 

“Yes.” He looked at with so much pain, so much regret, so much humanity that he hand dropped slowly, lips barely parted and unable to respond. 

For once, he didn’t disappear. He walked away down the hallway, and Belle watched him leave, his façade dropped down, if only for the moment. Without the view of his scaled skin, without seeing his dark nails from a close range, without the manic giggle and the coldness in his eyes… he looked absolutely, utterly _human_ , and the sight made her want to run to him and dry his tears, listen to his story and all his regrets.

A monster, he said. 

But doesn’t every monster have a creator to blame?

 

X

 

When she arrived in the library she was met with quite the surprise. There was a fire roaring in the ridiculously large hearth, and an old woman sitting in front of it in a rocking chair, quietly knitting. She didn’t even look up when Belle entered. 

“Hello, child.” Her voice was soft, but gentle, not menacing as Ursula’s had been. Belle didn’t quite know how to respond, stopped dead still in the middle of the library. 

“Hello.” She swallowed heavily, approaching with caution. “Should I fetch Rumpelstiltskin?” The woman in the rocking chair chuckled softly.

“No, he knows I’m here. Come and sit with an old woman by the fire.”

How could someone come into the castle without them knowing? The front doors certainly hadn’t opened- it shook the whole entryway to close them again, and she hadn’t felt or heard a thing. Belle was immediately on her guard. This woman, as harmless as she now seemed, must have some great hidden power. 

She cautiously picked a spot in the soft woven rug at the woman’s feet, where the warmth from the fire would touch her but not be unpleasantly hot. 

“Now, what’s your name?” the knitting woman asked, still not looking up. 

“Belle. Who are you?” Belle ventured cautiously. The woman nodded after a moment.

“You’re a smart one, not to go by your given name, and complex, too. So much power bottled up inside those names.” She said, needles clicking rhythmically. “As for me, I have many names, but you might know me best as the Black Forest Witch.”

Belle had to fight the urge not to squeal and fling herself away from the woman. The Black Forest Witch was one of the Great Powers, though not as well-known as Rumpelstiltskin or the Queen. Legend had it that she cooked children and ate them, that she’d cursed an entire town for a wrong done by one man, and that she killed without mercy… but then again, it was only legend, and Rumpelstiltskin had proved to be quite different from his own story.

“Very good.” The Witch finally looked up from her knitting, resting her hands in her lap and staring at Belle through clear, thoughtful blue eyes. “I’m rather impressed you haven’t tried to run away from me yet. I assume the Dark One has taught you about the power of a name?” as much as her attention had been focused on knitting before, it was now completely on Belle. She attempted not to shy away under scrutiny, though the fact that the Witch obviously knew about Belle’s magic made her nervous.

“He mentioned it.”

“You are wise not to give away your name to a stranger. Not your full name, at least… I assume you’re called something else as well. There’s a strange undercurrent of power there.”

“What does that mean?” 

“A name is connected to a part of your soul. Once you have it, it becomes a piece of who you are, and if you give it away, you let someone see into your soul.” It was a scary thought, but the Witch continued like it was nothing. “Can you feel my magic?” Belle thought for a moment, reaching out with all her senses and more, trying to feel for the presence of something…

And there it was. 

It was like a soft pressing sensation around the edges of her own magical presence, not unpleasant but not the norm. It was like a caress, almost, just settling on the farthest reaches of her awareness, though not trying to invade Belle's safe little circle of magic.

“I am called Frau Totenkinder,” the woman said, causing the magic around her to momentarily increase in potency, like a flare that went up and then died just as quickly. “You see? Now you know one of my names, so you know some of the extent of my power. I _can_ feel you, but I _can’t_ feel you. Your soul is split into two parts- two names.”

“And that’s… bad?”

“No,” Totenkinder shook her head. “On the contrary, it might be beneficial… but on the whole, if you want to use the full range of your powers-”  
But at that moment the doors swung open with a crash, and Belle winced on behalf of poor Troubadour, who probably would have been complaining loudly if it weren’t for the company. 

“Frau Totenkinder!” he said cheerfully, a wicked smile on his face. “I see you’ve met my new caretaker.”

“Don’t try and fool me, Rumpelstiltskin.” The old woman went back to her knitting with a sigh. “I could sense her magic a mile away. If she’s a caretaker, that’s not all she is. Has the Dark One finally taken an apprentice?” Belle went cold, shivers running down her spine. Well, it was better than the conclusion the sea witch had drawn, she supposed. However, Frau Totenkinder was infinitely more powerful than the sea witch, and quite obviously more perceptive. Rumpelstiltskin eyed her warily.

“What did you come for, Totenkinder?” he asked softly, keeping one eye on Belle.

“I came to talk with you about the stepdaughter of dear Queen Regina,” she said, attention back on her knitting. “I thought you might want to know that she should be headed your way soon.”

“Oh?” his expression shifted into one of surprise.

“Yes, quite so. Seems Regina has set a price on her head, God knows what for.” 

“Is that all?” Rumpelstiltskin was smarter than most gave him credit for. Though he was on surprisingly good terms with the Black Forest Witch, they each had their own agendas to cater to, and warning people of possibly unwanted visitors wasn’t usually on her list.

“I also wanted to get in a word with your apprentice,” Totenkinder smiled, looking both sheepish and shrewd at once. “I heard rumors of a new caretaker, and I didn’t think you would take on one lightly… especially since they coincided with the rumors that one of the cleric’s targets finally got away.”

“If you bring anyone down on this castle-” Rumpelstiltskin began, anger boiling, but the Witch cut him off.

“Hush. Didn’t anyone ever tell you to respect your elders?” she scolded. Belle resisted the urge to laugh. For all that Rumpelstiltskin was great and powerful, this woman talked to him like he was her blushing grandson. “I only wanted a word. You know some of the ones who escape aren’t strong enough to bear the power.”

“And the verdict?” the Spinner said through clenched teeth, voice taking on a dangerous tone.

“I like her.” The Witch cast an almost imperceptible smile in Belle’s general direction before immediately turning back to Rumpelstiltskin. “You’d best make sure to train her properly, though. Wouldn’t want the likes of _that_ getting out of hand.”

Belle glanced over at the fire, then back to where Frau Totenkinder was sitting in her chair, and realized that the old woman was gone. 

“Totenkinder always did know how to make an entrance,” Rumpelstiltskin said, smiling secretively. “And an exit.”

“Is she dangerous?” Belle rose from the ground, smoothing her skirts. Rumpelstiltskin laughed, a strange bubbling giggle.

“Of course she is, dearie. Even the best people are dangerous when you get on their bad side, but the old hag seems to have taken a liking to you.”

“Oh,” Belle nodded slightly. “But she won’t… she won’t try to kill me or anything?”

“No, not at all, The Spinner shook his head, giving a small smile that was almost encouraging. “But I would encourage you to judge her for yourself. Frau Totenkinder is a clever woman, but her power… it’s the only thing of as dark an origin as mine.”

“I thought you said our magic was the same.”

“It is, in a sense. It’s the same type of magic, except that yours runs in your blood, and mine…” he trailed off, seeming to think better of giving too much of an explanation. “Mine does not. Frau Totenkinder has some magic in her, but not near as much as you might think. Her power is of the more _sacrificial_ sort.”

Belle went cold, unable to speak. This was the sort of magic that the clerics had accused her of. The Witch… she’d actually _done_ it?

“The Black Forest Witch has been around far longer than you or I, and I have been here far longer than Regina or Maleficent. She’s been an established power for so long that no one knows how old she is except the crone herself.” He was pacing around the room, idly picking up books and setting them down again. Belle gazed at him a moment, taking in his stature, the strange emotions in his large eyes.

“How old are you, Rumpelstiltskin?” Long moments passed before he said another word, and Belle began to wonder if he’d even heard what she’d said, prepared to drop the question entirely, when he finally spoke.

“Answer me this, Belle,” he began slowly, “After your training is through, what will you do?”

“I’m going to go to my family, and…” she paused. Belle had thought about it, certainly, but there were the two great questions of _if_ and _when_ to get around before she could cement her answer. Yes, she would return to her family, ensure their safety, but beyond that? She hadn’t even begun to consider. After this, after running away… she couldn’t marry normally, wouldn’t have a family or a home or any sort of life that she might have had, and if, as Troubadour said, those of the magical type lived a very long time…

“That’s what I thought.” He turned on his heel and began to walk out of the library.

X

“Rumpelstiltskin?” Belle’s voice was so soft, so vulnerable, so different from the brave front she put on even when she was scared out of her wits, that he stopped. “Will I ever die?”

He dared not look at her. He could see her face in his mind’s eye now, all large blue eyes and porcelain skin, teeth kneading her bottom lip as they did when she was very unsure of herself. Seeing it for certain would make him crumble to bits…

He would answer her honestly, though. He owed her that much.

“I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all of your support, and thanks for the comments on the last chapter!


	6. Heartbeats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, basically, this is a warning that "Hey, this fic is getting darker!"  
> No trigger warnings for this chapter, but there are musings on death and on hearts. Also, bravo to those of you who got the _Fables_ reference in the last chapter!

The roses were blooming.

Well, perhaps it was more appropriate to say that the roses were _still_ blooming, and it didn’t make one lick of sense. The weather was getting colder, and yet the flowers didn’t seem to wither or die, their color never tainted or faded, petals never falling to the ground. Belle supposed she shouldn’t be surprised- she _did_ live around magic, after all- but it was still strange.

After the visit from Frau Totenkinder three days ago, she had decided to throw herself into her studies with new vigor. She spent all her free time pouring over books, and rather than falling asleep in the library’s couch, she’d simply wake up with her head resting on an open book and the sun streaming through the window. She’d stretch herself, wrench her eyes open, and manage to drag herself around enough to finish her chores for the day. 

Not that she actually had any set chores- it was more the type of job where you walk around, and if anything needs to be done then you do it as quickly and competently as you could. She had a feeling Rumpelstiltskin knew if she’d forgotten something. Once, in her early impatience with the rose garden, he’d commented on the fact that the plants hadn’t been pruned and were in dire need of it. He’d been in his tower all day. She hadn’t dared neglect a single duty after that.

At the present moment, though, her magical studies were suffering because of those damned flowers. They took up far too much of her time in the mornings, no matter how much of a reward she might eventually reap for her attentions, especially now that the cold was setting in.

Today, though, it was not cold. A rare warm spell was breezing through, and rather than stay inside Belle took three or four of the thick, dusty tomes she was working her way through out into the garden to soak up some sunshine while she read. She sat down on the pale, sun-warmed stones and spread her skirts around her, opening the book in her lap.

The problem with her magical studies wasn’t necessarily the magic itself, but that coupled with her duties as a caretaker of the house and garden (which were rather more involved than you might think for somewhere that was practically drenched in magic), there was simply a battle for time. Even with her one or sometimes two days each week that were devoted entirely to her apprenticeship and practice, she needed more time. Little things, like levitation and attraction spells for objects (like buckets and books and things that were generally too high for her to reach), conjuring things (food and small objects such as pins or rags), and unlocking doors (with which she got quite a bit of involuntary practice) could be worked into her everyday routine, but the bigger things like potion-making, immobilization, and practice with the four elements required a large amount of time and concentration that she didn’t always have. She found that magic usually took its price in sapping her energy, like it was drinking from her life force when she overdid it. And yes, she learned this the hard way. Sleeping twenty-four hours in the library and waking to a severe temper tantrum didn’t help her resolve.

Belle practiced as much as she could, of course, but the encounter with Totenkinder… that had only made her more curious. She’d pulled out other volumes from the library, books she’d been afraid to touch with a ten foot pole before because they mentioned the dark arts, a cold, evil type of magic that Belle didn’t want any part of.

However, it was one of those volumes that held her attention now, and they were doing quite a better job of answering her questions than anything else had.

Magic came in several qualities, but there was only one that had any rational boundaries as to where the typing began and ended: Black Magic. The darkest kind and the most used by evil sorcerers, black magic came from innocent sacrifice. _Blood_ sacrifice. This was the kind of magic the clerics had accused Belle of possessing, and the kind that Rumpelstiltskin had insinuated that Frau Totenkinder possessed. There were some rather gruesome details about the ritual of sacrifice that Belle did her best to skim over, some involving animals, but most requiring either a virgin child or a newborn baby. The very thought sent shudders down her spine. 

She would have put the book down for good after that if it weren’t for the notes on the next page.

The text was very old, the wording cryptic, but it held her attention.

_All Magic is White. Magic is the life that runs through us, goes through our blood, out existence, our very core, and just as White becomes a Color when it mixes with that Color, so Magic becomes part of our Essence when it mixes with is. If we allow ourselves to become twisted, Black, and evil, our Magic will become even more so, intensifying it until the power consumes our being. If our Essence remains Pure, or at the very least Noble or True, then so shall our Magic._

_Never forget that a person’s Magic is only another Part of him, but that this Part is the truest to himself and his nature. We cannot think of ourselves as separate from our Magic, as our Magic is engrained in our very Essence to the point that without it we are no longer Whole. Magic does not know time as we do, does not age, and thus does not allow us to age if we remain true to it, remain true to ourselves. If the very Essence of ourselves is impervious to time, and we are True to that essence, mayhap we shall never age, never decay, never leave this earth so long as our magic has a purpose for us to remain. Mayhap we shall never die._

The book dropped from her hands into her lap with a dull thud, muffled by the linen of her skirts. Never die. The concept was almost more terrifying than the thought of death itself.

Belle didn’t remember her mother. She didn’t remember losing her, even though the loss ate at her soul every day after Rumpelstiltskin’s revelation- the price of her magic was her mother’s death. She did. However, remember the death of her old friend and nursemaid, Lydia. As a child she hadn’t had many friends, and Lydia had always been there to dry her tears and patch her bruises, provide a friendly conversation and good company. When Belle was six Lydia’s weak heart had finally given out, and she remembered very clearly the sight of her lying in the coffin, pasty white and eyes closed, eerily still and beautiful in a macabre sort of way.

_Do you want to say goodbye, Isabella?  
No. _

No, of course she hadn’t wanted to say goodbye. What child wants to say goodbye? Belle still couldn’t remember ever telling her dear friend, the closest thing she’d ever had to a mother, anything like goodbye, but that was when she started going by “Belle.” Lydia had never called her Isabella like the rest of the household- she said it didn’t fit, and Belle had vehemently agreed. Since she wasn’t there any longer, Belle officially changed her name around the household. She still went by Isabella at formal functions or when guests came, but it wasn’t her name, not really. She was Belle.

_Why did she have to die?  
Everything has it’s time, Belle. Even you and I. _

The memory coursed through her like fire, and she pushed it away quickly, not willing to face those emotions again- loss, pain, _loneliness_. And yet… the person in the coffin looked so peaceful. Was it better, she wondered, to die? As a child she’d wanted to live forever, but now, faced with the possibility of immortality, she was frightened beyond belief. To live forever, to watch the world around you change while you remained the same, watch the people you love grow old, wither, and die, to lose everything in its time and have only yourself for solace, only yourself and your memories…

Immortals were rare. Everyone had heard of them, of course, but they tended to think that the petty endeavors of those on the earth were beneath what they needed to worry about. Perhaps it was true. They say that as you grow older, your soul becomes heavier, harder to carry around for the weight of past sins, things left unsaid and undone, wrongs so long past that they can never be righted… Though there were few immortals in the world, more than one had been known to go completely mad. Belle wondered if it was from the guilt.

_Immortal._

The word rang through her head like... well… a death sentence. 

Actually, to Belle, immortality was more of a death sentence than anything. She’d been cast away, thrown aside from her family. She would have nowhere to go in this world, nothing to return to. She would become like Frau Totenkinder- a magic-wielding spinster ready to go anytime the grave called just a little too strongly…

No.

_No._

She would not let this newest development discourage her. It should spur her on even more, encourage her to learn what she could do while she was alive. Perhaps she could devote her life to something… something _good_ , as soon as she learned to protect herself. But what?

“Something wrong, dearie?” 

Belle flinched, shutting her eyes a moment, and then turned around to see Rumpelstiltskin standing over her shoulder.

“Please stop doing that,” she sighed, cutting him a chastising look. His expression softened for a moment, but only a moment, before he caught sight of the book in her lap.

“What are _you_ doing with _that_?!” he snarled, snatching it up.

“I- I wanted to find out if it was true-” she stammered, surprised by his sudden outburst.

“What could you possibly want to find out from this? These are the Dark Arts, dearie- they are not to be trifled with!” He flicked his hand, and Belle felt herself being pulled from the ground as if a hand was around her throat, choking off her air supply. 

“Please…” she was losing air fast.

“What were you doing?” Rumpelstiltskin asked slowly. His voice was sinister, his eyes cold as he gazed right through the very heart of Belle, suspended in midair by his magic.

“I just- wanted-” she choked out, struggling to breathe. His grip was strangling. “Wanted- answers. Please- Rumple- stiltskin…” It had taken precious air to speak, and spots were appearing before her eyes. There was a pause, and Belle was immediately dropped to the ground, landing with a thud and gasping for air. 

“Why?” she spluttered, looking up, hoping she wouldn’t have to say any more to get her point across. She was used to his temper, but he had never done anything this rash. Rumpelstiltskin looked dazed, but still suspicious, still angry.

“There are things in those books that no one should know. They’ll make you go mad.” He knelt down, crouching on the ground beside her. “My last apprentice wanted to learn Black Magic. I’d intended to keep you unaware…” Belle flinched away slightly as he reached out, trailing a finger over her collarbone. She felt as if her very heart were being squeezed inside her- her chest hurt, and she gasped for air again.

“I don’t _want_ to learn Black Magic- I only wanted the answers you refused to give me!” Belle screamed, pushing him away and scrambling to her feet despite the fact that her head was protesting. He didn’t respond, only stood as still as a statue, staring. 

It was true that he never refused to give her answers outright, but he always cut her a glance, like a warning, and posed the same question, over and over:

_What did I tell you about asking things you don’t want to know the answers to?_

She was tired of hearing it.

“I have been sheltered all my life, Rumpelstiltskin.” Belle stepped a little closer, forcing herself to make eye contact. “I am not a child any longer. I respect that you’re trying to protect me, but if that protection gets in the way of what you’re trying to teach me, then it isn’t worth it. I’m not scared of the imaginary monsters under my bed any more than you are, but I have a right to know about the real ones. Perhaps if you would take the time to teach me rather than hide these things and wait for me to discover them on my own-”

“You want to know what Black Magic is? Fine.” He was angry now, properly, _deadly_ angry, and Belle was beyond afraid. He stepped forward before she could get away, reaching out and extending his hand… _into her chest_.

 _Into_ her chest.

Her mouth fell open involuntarily. The pain was exquisite, her heart was a flutter, and not in a good way. How could it be when there were _fingers_ around it? 

“This is Black Magic, dearie,” Rumpelstiltskin whispered, his accent thickening. “This is what you’ve been living with all this time. This is _me_. I could take your heart from you now and crush it to dust while you watch.” Belle didn’t say anything. She looked into his eyes and tried to stay conscious, and a moment later he removed his hand.

“Well?” he asked as Belle fought to stay standing. She wouldn’t collapse again, not if she could help it. “You’ve read the books. You know what I can do. Are you satisfied with what you’ve learned?” Rumpelstiltskin’s voice rose with every word until it echoed off the garden walls. “You’ve seen the monster of the castle now- _did you find the answers you seek_?!”

She could have fought back. She could have blasted him to kingdom come if she’d had the strength of will at that moment. She could have stayed, could have walked off calmly without a word otherwise.

She could have been _brave._

But Belle was afraid, and she was _not_ brave. Belle was small and weak and insignificant and innocent, and even if her will was strong her instinct was winning out this time. Bravery was only a façade, a wall she put up to disguise the fear that she felt, to help her stand when everyone else would be happy to laugh at her fall. So, since she was not brave, she did what any normal, logical person might do.

She turned and ran. 

 

X

 

What had he done?

Belle- small, gentle Belle that was like a ray of sunshine in his home full of darkness- he’d nearly killed her. When his hand was in her chest, cradling her heart, the magic was there. _Yes_ , it said. _Yes. Take her heart and take her with it. Crush it in your palm and watch the light fade from her eyes. You know you want to- you want to hold the power to choose who lives and dies, to feel the heart of a living being beating in your palm. It’s been so long…_

Sparkling blue eyes, eyes far too bright with pain and unshed tears, had gazed back at him, and something else that was stronger than the magic said _no_.  
That force hadn’t come about in years. Nothing had ever stopped him, not since Bae left, and before that the only thing stopping him had been that Bae would most definitely not approve. Now Bae was gone, and all that was left was Belle.

When he’d trained his last apprentice, all those years ago, he’d encouraged Black Magic. _Encouraged it_ , fool that he was. All he knew was power, and what was to be gained by _having_ power. The magic had gotten to them, corrupted them, taken over their basic nature and turned them into something infinitely evil, and it was all his fault. 

Well, perhaps not _all_ his fault.

He would never forgive himself for the role that he had played, though, and Belle had caused him to realize that. She had a certain glow to her, sometimes of power, but not always of power. It was a glow of innocence, of purity, and, erring on the other side of foolishness, something inside him had unconsciously tried to train her without introducing her to corruption. 

Belle may have been pure, may have been beautiful, but after being chased and hunted like an animal by the clerics… she was no longer innocent, not as she might have been before. He had to remind himself of that- the bare beginnings of her innocence were gone, and it wasn’t his fault. He had nothing to lose by encouraging the curiosity that came afterwards. She would learn in time…

But a tiny spark, perhaps the same part of him that had wanted to shield her from the world and the evil, saw the mistakes he’d made with his other charges. More recently, his apprentice, and less so, his son. They were bound: she was in his care now, and the way to care for her was not to strangle her in a rose garden.  
Rumpelstiltskin glanced over at the fallen books, one still lying open on the ground and the others sitting ominously nearby, their stained, dark covers daring him to open them, to take a peek inside at what secrets they held. He already knew all their secrets, much to his misfortune, and now so did Belle. Perhaps not all of them, but once someone has put a hand on your heart… well, there are only so many things you could recover from. 

For one moment, a tiny, tiny moment, when his hand had been on Belle’s heart in her chest, those blue eyes had flashed brown, had looked like the pleading eyes of someone else from so long ago, another apprentice, and then they had been blue again, but still had not belonged to Belle. A thousand faces flashed through his head from the look in her eyes, and then he came back to reality, and was horrified at what he’d done. 

And now he knew why Belle was so interesting to him. Now he knew why he’d kept her around, even after he knew that there was nothing to be gained by training her, not truly. He couldn’t turn her to a purpose, and he couldn’t make her believe what he wanted her to. She was independent, strong, and even when she was broken she tried to patch herself back together and go on, and she was the only thing to ever make him stop.

Even his former apprentice, in her blind, frightened innocence, couldn’t have done that. Her mind was too clouded by revenge, by hatred for the one who had taken everything from her. He really shouldn’t even call her his apprentice, he supposed, since she hadn’t gone through with the binding ceremony. Skipped out in the middle of the night, thought she knew all she needed to know. His last bound apprentice had been centuries before this last, half-apprentice dared call his name.

Belle had lost everything, in a way. Her family was alive, but the life she could have had was gone, and they both knew she would never been seen in the same light again. She would be either the miraculous girl who escaped from certain death, or the fugitive and the scourge of the city. Possibly both, in her own time, and yet… she wasn’t angry.

He would watch her sometimes, when she wasn’t paying attention, when she was immersed in a book or tending to the garden, or talking with that blasted wizard in the library (but to the wizard’s credit, he’d never mention that Rumpelstiltskin was watching), and she always looked so… at peace. His last apprentice, the last one who may have had the chance to do what Belle was doing now, had looked so troubled, so scared, so… so utterly _vulnerable_ and _impressionable_. Belle looked vulnerable, it was true, but impressionable? Never. 

His last apprentice had looked _lonely_ , the type of lonely that made one prone to anger because they felt alone, but they really weren’t. Belle looked _alone_ , the type of alone that made one prone to soul searching because there simply was no one. The last girl had been _beautiful_ , the type of physical beautiful that meant you knew you were beautiful, and you used it to your advantage. Belle was _radiant_ , a radiance so strong that she didn’t even know how it affected people, how it affected _him_. Her cheer was infectious, and she never seemed to let anything get her down… well, not when she knew he was looking.

The last girl had been vain.

Belle was oblivious.

She had been deceitful.

Belle wore her heart on her sleeve.

She had been corruptible.

Belle had a will so strong she could stop him with his hand on her heart.

She had been Queen Regina, strong and beautiful and broken, but without the will to pick up the pieces.

Belle was strong and beautiful and very, very broken… but she had been trying to pick up her pieces since the day she came to his door.

Belle was _not_ Regina. 

And if he had anything to say about it, she would not become her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I basically just wanted to say that I saw the stats on this fic when I posted the new chapter, and... wow. Thank you all so much. When I started writing this I never thought it would get the support it has.


	7. Naming of Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, sorry this took so long! I wound up rewriting this chapter twice and finding a beta in the middle...
> 
> Second off, just clarifying that Frau Totenkinder is not mine, she's a guest from Fables (which I don't own any more than I own OUAT, so... not at all). This chapter contains spoilers for Fables #14, "Witches." It's nothing that should ruin the arc for you, but here's your warning if you don't want to see them.

She didn’t know where she was running.

Her feet were taking her somewhere that her mind didn’t care about. The white stones crunched underfoot Belle ran the only direction she could think of: away.

When she reached the wall of the garden her hands worked of their own accord, clawing through the ivy on the wall to reach the gate. It resisted at first, but the lock clicked open, as if responding to her silent call of _please, please let me out!_ She stumbled through and continued down the path, feeling dizzy and panicked. The sound of her heart pounding in her chest drowned out all other noise, and her breathing was ragged. Somewhere in the back of her mind the though came that running wouldn’t be an escape from Rumpelstiltskin’s magic, but then again, staying there wouldn’t help her case, either. She couldn’t go anywhere- there was nowhere _to_ go, not with her magic. If Rumpelstiltskin continued to rage she could die, and no one would be the wiser.

The path wound down a hill, far down, past the soft meadow surrounding the castle and down towards the lake, and on where it disappeared into the woods. In her rush to run, to go somewhere, anywhere, Belle tripped on the slope, stones skittering, and rolled down the hill towards the black water. 

She would have rolled into the lake if it weren’t for the hands that stopped her.

“Careful, girl! You don’t want anything to do with that water, trust me.”

Belle jumped to her feet faster than she thought was possible, wondering who in the world could be on Rumpelstiltskin’s grounds, and found a familiar face looking back at her.

“Frau Totenkinder!” She breathed a sigh of relief, casting a frightened glance over her shoulder to see if anyone was following. “What are you doing here?”

“I have some business to attend to in the forest. I was about to come and find _you_ , actually,” she said, brow furrowed. She still carried her knitting bag, needles tucked into one of the skeins of yarn. “Where _are_ you running to? And in such a state?!” The old woman looked her over from top to bottom, eyes settling on her throat. She blinked, confused at the marks that spoke louder than words. 

“I don’t know. Away.” Belle started to run off again, but the Witch stopped her.

“Calm down, child. Tell me what’s happened.” She reached out a hand towards her neck, gingerly, and Belle flinched. Totenkinder drew back with a small nod. “He hurt you, didn’t he?”

Belle only nodded, a hand straying up to her neck. She wondered how the Witch had known, but realized that even magic must leave bruises when it affected one in such a purely physical way.

“He thought I wanted to learn Black Magic. He… he almost took my heart.” The memory of fingers clutched around her beating heart was not one she could easily shake, and it made her dizzy even now.

“Idiot.” Totenkinder mumbled. “He could have killed you, and oh, that’s a high price. The contract that he entered during the binding was a _protective_ contract, but he’s going all about it the wrong way.” The Witch glanced back towards the castle, and, seeing nothing, beckoned for Belle to follow her towards the forest. Belle glanced back as well, then jogged a few steps to catch up with Totenkinder.

“What are you saying?!” she asked, struggling to keep up with the surprisingly fast pace the old woman was setting. They were off the path of white stones by now, following only a thin line bare of grass and weeds that marked a well-trodden footpath into the forest. Tendrils of magic, invisible but present, reached out to her from all sides, caressing her tenderly, making her feel at home in a place that gave her shivers to think about on her own. According to Rumpelstiltskin, the Dark Forest was not usually kind to visitors.

“I’m saying that he’s trying to protect you by keeping you from Black Magic, but he’s a blockheaded old spinner who can’t distinguish one emotion from another. He had a bad turn with his last apprentice-”

“ _Last_ apprentice? What happened?” 

“I’m getting to that,” she snapped. Belle bit her lip and muttered an apology before the Witch continued. “It’s alright. Yes, he has only had one other apprentice, and she took to Black Magic like a moth to the flame.”

“But he said that _he_ uses Black Magic. Why does he want to keep me from it so badly?” she’d never actually wanted to learn it, but the fact that he was so vehement about it made her curious. Well, now that she was a safe distance from the castle it did.

“I think he’s become quite fond of you.” Totenkinder said, point blank. They crossed over the threshold between field and forest, and were soon covered by the type of eerie blackness achieved only by the cover of trees. 

“ _What_?” He’d become fond of her, so he tried to choke her to death. Right. That made _perfect_ sense.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but…” she broke off with a sigh. “Black Magic feeds off of all the anger, sorrow, and hate in a person’s heart, and it _amplifies_ it. It’s not healthy or good as the usual type of magic is, it’s all consuming. The Spinner uses Black Magic because that is what he is- it’s his personal curse and his own price for magic. It changed him, consumed his being and turned him into a different man than he once was. He believes himself to be a monster.”

“So he’s said.” Belle nodded sadly. She wanted to believe the Witch, more than anything. Until today, Rumpeltsiltskin hadn’t been the monster everyone had claimed him to be- he’d been a kind (if impatient) teacher and a good employer. “What happened to his last apprentice?” 

Frau Totenkinder cut her eyes from the path for only a moment, looking at Belle warily.

“She was an innocent girl, much like you. Her anger and grief pushed her down paths that she never should have taken. The magic consumed her.”

“She?” Belle was almost offended. Did Rumpelstiltskin just rotate women in and out of the Dark Castle? Caretakers, apprentices, who was next?

“I know what you’re thinking, and there isn’t a lick of truth in those stories of seduction and misuse. He’s a grumpy old lizard, but he would never cross that line. In fact…” she trailed off, turning left at a fork in the road. The forest seemed to be getting denser as they moved along, the thick canopy blocking almost all light. “But it isn’t my story to tell. You should ask him yourself.”

“I can’t go back there,” Belle whispered fearfully. What would happen if she did?

“Of course you can!” Totenkinder declared. “Gather your nerve. March yourself back up to that castle and show him what he’s done. You’ll have him at your feet in seconds.” She chuckled mischievously, and Belle preferred not to dwell on what she meant.

She followed the Witch deep into the forest, hoping that she knew how to get back out. Belle was utterly lost by this point. The Dark Forest was a place that lived up to its name. The trees here blocked almost all light at the deepest, darkest part, regardless of what time of day it was, and yet grass still grew beneath their feet. Magical forests were keen to do such things- it was their way of letting visitors know that this was not an ordinary place.

“Erm… Frau Totenkinder?”

“Yes?”

“Where are we going?”

“I told you I had business to conduct in the forest, specifically the darkest part of the forest. I have a lesson to teach you, and one that you should learn well.” With this she veered off the path and into a clearing. Well, Belle thought it was a clearing, but she also thought she could make out the outline of a rocking chair in front of them. It was difficult to see more than a few feet in front of her in this lighting.

Frau Totenkinder turned to Belle, a strange look on her face. 

“Do you remember the conversation we had about the power of a name?”

Belle nodded.

“Good. I’m about to demonstrate just what kind of power a name has. Listen closely: I want you to stay back, and whatever happens, don’t say _anything_. When it’s all over and done, I want you to tuck tail and run-” she waved her hand in the air momentarily. “In any direction you want, but away from here. Don’t stop until you are out of this forest, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I’m showing you this because you need to see it- you need to understand what kind of power could be under your fingertips when you’re as old as I am. This kind of magic only comes around once in many, many lifetimes. Now… any questions?”

“One.” Belle said slowly. “Rum- the Dark One.” she corrected quickly, thinking better of speaking his name. Totenkinder nodded in approval. “He said that your magic was… was some kind of darker magic, but you don’t seem to be _consumed_ by it. What did he mean?”

“I have lived far too long and have far too many regrets to be able to answer your question completely in the little time we have left, but suffice to say that yes, I used to work with the darkest kind of Black Magic. Nowadays my magic comes from so many different sources that the little Black Magic there is has been watered down to little more than gray runoff. Does that make sense?”

“A little.” Belle said, still confused. She had so much to learn, but she knew that the Witch felt that her business was pressing. Totenkinder nodded once, then came forward and kissed Belle’s forehead in a strangely grandmotherly way.

“If you see me again, which is rather unlikely, we will discuss this is more detail. If not, I wish you luck.” She made a sweeping motion with her hands to indicate that Belle should step back, and walked a little closer to what Belle imagined was the center of the clearing.

“Our work begins.” Totenkinder said, voice echoing. “This is a time for ending, a time for dramatic and terrible change.” She took the two knitting needles out of her bag, holding one in each hand.

“My weapons. After long ages, I speak your names to you once more: Hunger and Judgment.” Belle clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from gasping when the knitting needles turned into knives. One was curved, almost like a cutlass, and the other was double-edged and straight. “Once again you will cut my desires into the heart of every world.” She tucked the weapons into a belt around her waist and picked up the bag of yarn.

“My bag of tricks,” the Witch crooned, looking at the object almost lovingly. “I name you pathfinder, and call on your guidance once mote, to always and ever enlarge me in wisdom and understanding.” This time it was slightly less surprising when the bag changed form into a small drawstring pouch, probably leather or some other type of animal skin. She tucked this into her belt beside the knife called Judgment.

“And finally my most ancient item.” She turned to the outline of possibly-a-rocking-chair that Belle had noticed earlier, placing her hand on the back. Apparently it was a rocking chair, then. “My stronghold. I name you Capture.”

Nothing Belle could have seen, heard, or read would have prepared her for the transformation she saw next. It was one thing to have an inkling of what was coming, and quite another to actually see it. The chair glowed a golden color and changed into a house, a house with a short path of stepping stones leading to the front door. It would have been shocking enough on its own even if it weren’t made entirely of sweets. The overall effect was quite like the seasonal decorations the cook made at home.

“I recall another of your forms, even more ancient…” Totenkinder’s eyes seemed to sparkle as she spoke. “And so I name you Refuge.”

The house changed again, this time into a tower made of gray stone, stretching so high that it must have broken through the trees somewhere, because Belle couldn’t see the top. There was no door and no windows that Belle could see from her view.

“And finally I recall your oldest shape, and I name you by your oldest names.” The tower changed, seeming to guess her intent before she even spoke the words, except this time it didn’t become more extravagant. It wasn’t a castle or a fort, or anything of the kind, really. It was large, nearly flat stone. The sides were carved with a swirling pattern- an altar stone.

Frau Totenkinder reached out to the stone, fingers grazing it ever so gently, a pained expression on her face.

“Damnation…and Regret… and Burden.” As she spoke the last word, the stone changed yet again, this time into a wooden carving on a string, which she slipped around her neck. The wind picked up, tossing her hair about in the breeze, and it became longer, darker. Her skin became smoother and her structure less bony and more sure, and suddenly Belle was not looking at the Black Forest Witch, but a young sorceress.

“So many names for so terrible an engine.”

She waved her arms, and two trees came together with the same golden glow, forming a doorway that off enough light to show the clearing in its entirety. The Witch cast one glance back at Belle before putting a hand on the door.

“And now it’s time for me to go- it is time to say goodbye to long years of knitting and service, time once again to awake the more alarming aspects… Goodbye, my child.” 

With those words she walked through the doorway and was gone, leaving Belle in a pool of utter darkness. She remembered what Frau Totenkinder had told her, and so she ran once more.

 

X

 

Heart pumping and chest heaving, Belle made her way through the woods. She didn’t dare stop or slow down, not until she was sure she was out. Her clothing became tangled in branches, and the limbs of trees reached out to snatch at her arms and face, but she kept going. In the back of her mind distant memories came to life, memories of running through another forest on a dark and cold night, soaked through with water and mud, tired and dirty, running for her life from the clerics. These thoughts only made her run faster.

The amount of sheer power that Frau Totankinder wielded was terrifying. Of course, everything seemed terrifying of late. The more Belle thought about it, the more she detested what a frightened little rabbit she had become, putting on an illusion of bravery by hiding behind the bravery of others. She had no control over her life- her father had decided everything for her, even forced her to run when the clerics came. The only choice that she’d made herself had been going to Rumpelstiltskin, the only deal that she had ever made of her own free will, and she would not back out on it. Not now. She needed this, the training and the experience, if she was ever going to be able to manage even a shadow of the power that Totenkinder had just displayed. She needed to be brave, because no one was going to do it for her. She needed to stop running away.

The forest became lighter as she went, and the little shafts of daylight breaching the canopy lightened her heart. Before she even realized that there was once again a path under her feet she had broken through into the fields surrounding Rumpeltsiltskin’s castle, slowing to a jog, and then a walk. She turned and looked back at the forest, somehow still amazed that everything around her could be saturated in so much magic.

And now she had to turn and face what was coming to her.

The walk up the white stone path and back into the rose garden was far too short for her liking- long enough for Belle to catch her breath, but not long enough for her to talk her heart into beating at a normal pace. 

She wasn’t sure how long she had been gone. It was impossible to tell time when you were so far inside the Dark Forest when the trees blocked all light. While the sun had been high in the sky when she first left the garden, it was now setting in a fiery glow to the west, and a slight chill was beginning to set in. The wrought iron gate creaked open under the pull from her shaking hands, and she stepped inside slowly, cautiously, looking around like a frightened kitten.  
Rumpelstiltskin was still there.

He sat on a stone bench facing away from her, head in his hands, hunched over and looking far smaller than he ever had. He looked up when he heard the creak from the gate, standing quickly.

“Hello.” Belle murmured, determined not to look down. This was her first step towards bravery, the first tiny step in such a long, long journey. 

“You came back.” He sounded utterly amazed, looking at her like she was a ghost, like she could fade away at any second. 

“I wasn’t going to,” she admitted, twiddling her hands nervously, but she did not break eye contact. “I was going to run away.”

“Why didn’t you?” Rumpelstiltskin stepped closer, still leaving an arm’s length between them, searching her eyes for any sign or forgiveness that might be hidden there.

“Before I came here, I liked to think that I was brave.” Her voice was soft, almost shaking but held steady by a single thread of... sanity? Determination? Belle wasn’t sure what, but it was there. “I- I’m not brave. I never was. I let my father take care of matters about my magic when I was too scared to do it myself, and I have a bad habit of running away from things when I’m scared… I’m not doing that anymore. I’m not going to run from the things that frighten me or from my problems. I’ll take care of it myself.” The urge to look away was overwhelming, his gaze scrutinizing, but she didn’t drop her gaze.

“Do I frighten you?” Rumpelstiltskin asked. Belle considered her answer for a long moment, meeting his gaze defiantly.

“Yes,” she said, her eyes cold. “But if you didn’t there would be no need for bravery.” Rumpelstiltskin nodded, and, surprisingly, was the first to look away. Belle felt some of the pent up tension in her body release as he did so.

“I… apologize for my behavior.” His words were slow, calculated, as if apologizing was something he was rather rusty at and needed time to work out. He reached out to her slowly, taking a step forward, in the same way that Frau Totenkinder had reached out. She had to fight not to move away as his scaled hand touched her gently, fingering the bruises on her throat. A gentle, pleasant heat ran through the sensitive areas, and Belle knew that if she looked in a mirror there would be no mark.

“I know you were angry because you were trying to protect me,” Belle began carefully, “but I can’t tell you that I forgive you for it. I trusted you, and you shattered it.”

Rumpelstiltskin only looked at her.

“If I am going to be your apprentice, this has to change. Now.” She would be firm about this, if nothing else. She couldn’t stay under any other circumstances. “I don’t know if you still want me here, or not, but if you do it can’t be like this. I don’t want to wonder if you’ll lash out at me- you’re supposed to be _teaching_ me! And I have nowhere else to go, but if this keeps up…” Belle drew in a breath and swallowed hard, hands fisting by her sides. “I’d rather leave and take my chances with the clerics.” She realized she was breathing hard when she stopped talking- her anger was taking over. When he still didn’t respond, she brushed past him to retreat into the castle, shaking her head in disgust. Perhaps he would think over things after she was gone.

“Wait.” He whispered. Belle turned, eyebrows raised. “Don’t leave.”

Her face softened, almost without her permission.

“Stay. Continue your studies. I will answer any questions you have. I won’t touch you- I won’t come near you if that’s what you wish, but stay.”  
She hesitated just a moment, a single heartbeat, remembering the cold, inhuman look on his face when he had lifted her off the ground.

“Please.”

Belle nodded, an almost imperceptible motion at first, but then with more vigor. She didn’t speak. She turned and walked through the door, saying a silent prayer of thanks, but also confused.

He could have let her go. He could have just let her leave, but… he _wanted_ her here. Why? She didn’t actually serve a purpose, did she? Of course, judging by the books she’d read having an untrained magic wielder wandering alone in the great wide world wasn’t the most _ideal_ situation, but the Spinner didn’t seem to be one to care much about the great wide world. They made a deal, and in truth it was hers to break. She could leave when she thought she was ready, and she was never obligated to return.

In the beginning, Belle had elected to stay because the danger of the Dark One seemed less than that of the clerics at the time. Before his outburst earlier that day, he had shown her a sense of humanity that she hadn’t thought him capable of. He looked at her like another human being, not as someone “infected” with magic. He looked at her with kind eyes, with the pride of a master with his pupil, and she didn’t understand what could have happened to make him react so violently until Frau Totenkinder had told her… but perhaps more answers would come in the morning, after sleep. He did say that he would answer her questions.

For a long time, throughout all of her three months in the Dark Castle, she had tried to pin down what kept her inside these walls. It fear of the clerics, in part; the need for instruction, she assumed, but she could never pin anything down. In all that time she’d never even considered that it might be Rumpelstiltskin  
Her hand went to her throat, fingers tapping over the once-bruised flesh. She was beginning to think that all her assumptions had been wrong.

So, confused and weary, unwilling to think any more on the events of that day, the last surviving being that might be capable of evoking any of Rumpelstiltskin’s humanity dragged herself up to her room and fell into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, check out the [awesome cover art](http://grapemartini.tumblr.com/post/38914109742/cover-i-made-for-tardisinwonderlands-awesome) by grapemartini!


	8. Dreams and Nightmares

_Air._

_Where was the air?_

_Invisible hands grasped her throat, choking her. She kicked and struggled, but couldn’t free herself, couldn’t even find whatever was slowly killing her.  
Around her, a rock changed to a castle, and then to a house, and then into a chair in which an old woman sat. She was knitting and mumbling, and even though Belle tried to cry out, the woman would not look up. The world was fading now, everything but the hands around her throat disappeared. _

“Belle!”

She jolted awake, thrashing and gasping for air. Dimly, she realized there were hands on her shoulders, and that she was thrashing _something_ , but it she didn’t realize what it was until she looked up. 

“Rumpelstiltskin?” Belle panicked, sliding away from him as quickly as she could. He immediately moved his hands behind his back and took a step away.

“You were dreaming.” He seemed concerned, one hand grasping the other arm in a nervous gesture. However, as his hand moved out of the way, Belle saw a red stain spreading down his sleeve.

“You’re bleeding.” Her eyes widened with realization. She’d attacked him- grabbing for the hands in her dream must have translated to clawing at the person trying to wake her. “I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be.” Rumpelstiltskin moved his hand away quickly. The air rippled with magic for a moment as he brushed his fingers over his arm- healing magic. He stood quietly, hanging his head as if ashamed. When Belle didn’t speak, he turned to leave the room, footfalls nearly silent

“Wait,” Belle spoke before she had much time to think it over, holding out her hand as if he was reaching for him. Rumpelstiltskin turned, brow furrowed in confusion. “Stay. Please.” Being alone in the dark was worse than being with the person who had tried to kill her in the light. At least this way she would know where he was.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I need answers.” _And I am not brave_ , she thought, _not yet_. Slowly, hesitantly, she slid to the other side of the bed, letting her feet dangle off. Rumpelstiltskin made no move to come closer.

“What would you like to know?” His face was a mask- if he was expecting anything in particular, she couldn’t tell.

“I saw Frau Totenkinder yesterday,” Belle said softly.

“Yes.” The Spinner didn’t seem at all surprised. In fact, he almost looked _bored_.

“She took me out into the forest. She… um…” What exactly had she done?

“Oh, I know about that, dearie. She wouldn’t have been able to get into the Forest if I didn’t. What do you want to know about it?”  
“What did she do out there?” Belle drew a blanket from the bed around her shoulders, in both an effort to preserve her modesty (a nightgown only hid so much) and because, despite the roaring fire, she felt cold and clammy.

“Totenkinder has returned to her natural state,” he explained casually, as if aging backwards was something entirely normal. “She evoked the power of names and reverted to the self that she would be if she had allowed her power to keep her young and whole. It’s also safe to assume that she’s returned to her natural name- her _first_ name, that is- Bellflower.” Belle waited a moment before responding, allowing everything to properly sink in.

“But... why?” she asked, shaking her head. “It doesn’t make any sense. I understand she wanted me to see, but…”

“Why here? Why now?” Rumpelstiltskin offered. Belle nodded her agreement. “Totenkinder has her own schedule to keep. She has business in another world involving some very old, very dark magic that she’s going to need all her strength for… and it still may not be enough,” he sighed.

“Why don’t you help her?” If they were friends, or whatever the closest thing to friends were in a sorcerer’s case, why not offer help? If she was in so much danger why not come to her aid?

“It isn’t my fight, and it’s dangerous for me to become involved with matters that are far beyond my right to intervene. She has to do this on her own, and if we’re all very lucky she’ll survive. Anything else?” 

“Will I really have that much power someday?”

“Without a doubt,” Rumpelstiltskin said seriously, his distant expression suddenly becoming soft. He knew she was scared, that much was clear, but did he know what she was scared of?

Did _Belle_ even know what she was scared of?

“Your name,” she said suddenly. “When we were in the forest, I was going to say your name, but… There’s a reason people don’t use it, isn’t there?”

“Every time a person says my true name, I feel it. I sense where they are, what they’re doing. If the pull is strong enough I come to them.” His hands moved of their own accord as he spoke, flitting around in his usual manner. The tension in the room relaxed just a hair.

“Then… what should I call you?” she asked. “I can’t call you ‘Spinner’ or ‘Dark One,’ so… _what_?” Rumpelstiltskin fumbled for words, as if he simply couldn’t think of another name.

“Call me whatever you like,” he finally said. “Give me a new name if you wish. Consider it a gift.” 

A name as a gift. That was a new one, but it certainly seemed appropriate considering Totenkinder’s demonstration of the power a name could hold. Belle blinked, thinking. She hadn’t been expecting the opportunity to choose, but…

“Rum,” she smiled slightly. “How about just ‘Rum?’ Is that too close to your true name?” The Spinner seemed to contemplate it, moving his hands as if weighing objects between them.

“Not at all. I rather like it.”

 

X

 

One week later, a pounding on the castle doors woke her.

“Rumpelstiltskin!” A voice called. “I know you’re in there!” 

Belle groaned and rolled over in her bed- it was just past down, judging by the light at the edge of the curtains, but she wasn’t ready to rise yet. The nightmares still continued, but every time she thought she was shaken awake, the room was empty. Once, after one of the more disturbing dreams, she even thought she felt a hand stroking her hair gently, soothing her back to sleep. 

Troubadour had pointed her to some books that helped to ease the physical symptoms- sweating, screaming, clawing the air- but everything she tried to get rid of the actual dreams did nothing at all. Eventually she tossed and turned less in her sleep, but that didn’t make the dreams any less terrible… it only meant that there was no more comfort. She didn’t mention them to Rumpelstiltskin, and he didn’t make it a point to ask. 

“Dark One, I summon thee!”

Oh, gods, he didn’t actually think _that_ was going to work, did he? She didn’t know why she could hear it this far up, but it was coming through loud and clear, and she really _would_ prefer to simply sleep a little longer…

“Rumpelstiltskin!”

The last week had been filled with nothing but magic, setting aside her duties as a caretaker in favor of some rigorous practice as an apprentice. Rumpelstiltskin had yet to answer any of her questions because she had yet to ask them. Their contact had been strictly that of the master and the pupil, and she had even risked not going to dinner.

He hadn’t complained.

Judging by the lessons that she’d learned in the past week, the Dark One was trying to impress upon her the importance of being able to defend oneself. He seemed afraid of what he might do to her if he lost his control for even a moment, and if that happened again, he wanted her ready. A week was hardly enough time to become fluent in defensive techniques, but she wasn’t completely inept any longer. The problem? Now she understood why magic lessons had only been every two or three days: it was utterly exhausting.

Belle ached all over from invisible bruises, and all she wanted to do was sleep. In fact, today was the day that Rumpelstiltskin had promised she could rest, but… 

It wasn’t exactly working out.

“Open this door!”

That pounding was _incessant_. Every knock made her head feel like it was pulsing. After another minute or two it became evident that the intruder wasn’t going to go away and that the Spinner wasn’t going to do anything about it.

Grumbling, Belle stumbled out of the bed and over to the wardrobe. She knew there would be a dressing gown inside because that was what she needed at the moment, and there it was. The curtains were drawn, offering barely enough light to see by to get dressed, but somehow she found the sleeves and tied the sash so that she looked at least mildly presentable. Forgoing shoes altogether, she huffed impatiently and walked down to the door. If she was lucky, the gown wouldn’t show her feet much, and the stone floors to the castle always managed to be warm (the perks of living with magic).

She snapped her fingers in front of the gigantic wooden doors, unlocking them the easy way, and they slid open slowly to reveal a young man in armor, brandishing a sword. He was fairly tall, blonde, with blue eyes and a very confused look on his face.

“And you are?” Belle asked, tapping her foot. Now was not the best time to bother with formal introductions. All she wanted was for him to go away so she could go back to sleep, or for Rumpelstiltskin to deal with his own visitors.

“I… was looking for Rumpelstiltskin?” He cocked an eyebrow, taking a step back. “I must have the wrong-”

“No, this is the place, but you didn’t answer my question.” Belle said. Really, she knew she must look a mess- tangled hair and drooping eyes- but could he really be _that_ surprised? 

“Prince James at your service, my lady.” He seemed to remember his manners and bowed briefly. Ah! She knew him- or rather, she knew _of_ him. “Are you… are you captive here?”

“Pleasure.” Belle dipped a small, irritated excuse for a curtsey and yawned, much against her will. “And no, I’m _not_ captive. Now, if you’ll forgive me for being so blunt- what on earth are you doing here?” 

“I was hoping for a deal-” He seemed to be fumbling for a response again.

“Obviously.” Everyone who visited the Spinner came looking for a deal. Well, except Frau Totenkinder, but he didn’t need to know that. “I meant what on earth are you doing here _at this hour_? Do you realize what time it is? It’s awfully rude to come knocking at people’s doors at the crack of dawn, even for the Dark One. _Especially_ the Dark One. You know, if I hadn’t come down here, there’s every chance he would have lost his temper and turned you into a toad!” She pointed her finger accusingly, scolding a _prince_ of all people, but… well, in hindsight, he actually could have been turned into a toad. Probably not for long, but it wasn’t exactly a stretch of the imagination.

“I’m sorry?” he took another step back. Belle sighed, exasperated. “If you don’t mind me asking… who are _you_?” Belle opened her mouth to respond when footsteps from behind cut her off.

“She’s my apprentice, dearie.” Ah, the Spinner was fond of his entrances, wasn’t he? He stepped up next to her and put an arm around her waist in the same fashion that he had when Ursula had showed up uninvited. After the events of last week, Belle still had to fight not to pull away, but appearances were everything in deals. That was one thing she’d learned very quickly from the few she’d observed.

“And,” Rumpelstiltskin continued, “ _she_ could have turned you into a toad just as easily, but she has far more patience than I.” Technically true, though she hadn’t much practice at transformations yet, and very little at all with living subjects.

“Now, what is it that you want?” The Spinner asked, drumming his fingers where they met the bottom of Belle’s ribcage. There was a slight tickling sensation, and she utterly failed to hold back a smile, but bit back her laugh by a narrow margin.

“Snow’s missing, and I want a way to find her. She doesn’t even remember me!” The prince looked so utterly hopeless that Belle wanted to hug him, but that wouldn’t be proper form at _all_.

“Well, of course she doesn’t!” Rumpelstiltskin snapped. Belle kept her face in what she hoped was a politely interested expression in order to hide her shock. “I gave her a memory potion. She _wanted_ to forget. You were going to marry someone else, I recall?”

“I never-”

“But that was the plan,” he interrupted. Belle knew well enough never to speak when the Spinner was on a tangent in one of his deals. “Not to worry; I can help you find her… For a price.”

“What price?” The prince sheathed his sword, but shifted his weight, suspicious.

“Let’s say…” Rumpelstiltskin seemed to debate over this for a moment. “Your cloak?”

“What use do you have for my cloak?” James looked confused, but fingered the clasp.

“That’s my business, dearie. Do we have a deal or not?”

By way of an answer, James unclasped his cloak and tossed it towards the Spinner. He caught it with his free hand and finally let go of Belle. Her body almost immediately relaxed, even though she didn’t realize that she’d been so tense while he touched her. Even after a week with barely any words besides formalities and lessons, she couldn’t get past his touch. Perhaps she was expecting too much of herself- she had nearly died, after all.

In some part of her subconscious she heard Rumpelstiltskin prattling on about a map, but her mind was focused on other things. Totenkinder had said that Rumpelstiltskin cared for her, and she knew that on some level she was right. 

The more they trained, the more she was sure that he wanted her to remain innocent of the darkness that he had been exposed to… but they were two sides of the same coin. The structure of their magic was the same, he said, the way it wove through the air and went about its business, the limits to power and the construction of a spell. In order to know the true extent of her power, she had to know about the light and the dark.

Once, when Belle was little, her father had told her that a wise man knew that his own foolishness, and a good man knew his potential for evil. Nothing is black and white in this world, so she’d been told, and everything has the potential for both evil and good… just like magic.

Just like Rumpelstiltskin.

The prince left with the map rather unceremoniously, and Belle shook herself back to reality as the Spinner walked over.

“You did well,” he nodded, pleased. “Nice touch, by the way.”

“What?” Belle had no idea what he was talking about. She’d just stood there.

“The smirking- nice touch.”

“Oh!” Her mouth dropped open in realization. “I wasn’t smirking, you… I’m ticklish.” Belle bit her lip and glanced at the ground, embarrassed. A giggle wafted through the air, and Belle turned, surprised.

Rumpelstiltskin covered his mouth to try to stifle the sound, but that wasn’t what she was surprised about. This wasn’t his usual manic giggle- it was a _laugh_ , a perfectly normal, involuntary, laugh.

It sounded so completely human that it took her off guard.

Rumpelstiltskin may have been known as the Dark One to the better part of the world, but to Belle he was very slowly becoming just… Rum. He seemed less a powerful sorcerer and more an ordinary, human man every day, and the scales no longer seemed strange. After the incident with the books and the… _choking_ … he’d been twice as kind as he’d ever been, speaking softly and keeping the quips to a minimum, looking at her with guilty eyes every time she glanced his way. He’d said he was a man once- an ordinary man, without magic… 

Did that mean he wasn’t always this cruel? Was he once caring? Did he have a home, a family?

Did he have a love?

 _Could_ he love?

“Rum,” Belle’s question came suddenly, on impulse alone. “why didn’t you kill me?” His head whipped around, brow furrowed in confusion.

“What?”

“In the garden that day,” she explained. “I know why you tried, but I don’t…” Belle trailed off, trying to think about how to explain what she meant. “You’ve killed many people.”

“Yes,” he cast his eyes down, looking almost ashamed.

“Did they all deserve it?” On the first day in the castle he’d told her not to ask questions that she didn’t want to know the answers to. She’d learned very quickly that he meant it, but this was something that she needed to know.

“No,” he whispered, not changing his gaze.

“Then why did you stop? Why didn’t you choke me to death? Was it the binding?” her voice became louder as she spoke. “Why did you let me live?”

This one little fact had been eating at her ever since she came back to the garden. Not only had he let her live, he’d stopped himself when his hand was on her heart. He could have killed her with the tiniest twitch of his fingers, but he didn’t. Rumpelstiltskin, rumored to be a murderous, ruthless killer, had let her go… and Belle had absolutely no idea why. 

“You’re innocent.” The Spinner looked up at her, sharp blue eyes scanning her features, seeming to look right through every carefully constructed guard and right into her heart. “You never did anything to deserve it. You’re… _different_. You’re strong, and you’re smart, and… you are not the person I thought you to be.”

“Frau Totenkinder told me about your last apprentice,” Belle said slowly. Rumpelstiltskin only stared, nodding slightly. “I don’t want to learn black magic. I have no use for it. I’m only trying to _survive_ , Rum.”

“I understand that now.” He turned to leave, but Belle stopped him.

“So why do you still want me here?” She couldn’t fathom it, didn’t understand it, and she wasn’t about to keep this up any longer. Rumpelstiltskin finally raised his eyes, staring at her evenly for a long moment before answering, seeming to judge how much of the truth she could handle. 

“I’m sure Totenkinder also told you about how black magic corrupts,” he said with a sigh. Belle nodded. “My magic is black magic- it’s dangerous and consuming. I had my hand on your heart, and I was angry. You must understand that I shouldn’t have been _able_ to stop.”

“Why did you?”

“I don’t know,” Rumpelstiltskin shook his head slowly. “At first I wanted you here because of your power and your potential, but now…” He trailed off, reaching out to brush away a strand hair from her face. His hand lingered there, hovering just above her skin, ghosting over her cheek like a feather.

“You don’t make any sense.” His hand dropped to his side, and he turned and walked from the room, leaving Belle alone. She could tell that he was in a mood now- he would lock himself in a room with his spinning wheel and not bother coming out for at least a day. She’d bring him something to eat later, just in case...  
There was a strange sort of aching in her chest. Perhaps it was an aching for home, for familiarity, for a life that she knew well. Magic was a comfort- without it, she simply wouldn’t feel whole again, but it wasn’t everything. You could have all of yourself and still be far from whole… 

Belle crumpled into a nearby chair, head in her hands. Was it possible to use magic to time travel? Could she go back and change everything, have a life that was simpler?

Would it change anything if she did?

Would she even do it if she had the choice?

 

X

 

_She was tied up somewhere, alone in the darkness._  
Her wrists and ankles ached, and trails of fire ran along her legs and back.  
Water dripped somewhere in the room- she could hear it- and someone spoke in a commanding voice. 

Tell us what you know!  
I don’t know anything.

_A whip cracked, and something stabbed into her side. She wanted to scream, to cry out, but she couldn’t make a sound. The world around her felt cold and empty, devoid of any hope or life, and her limbs wouldn’t respond to her command to move._

Belle woke screaming, tossing in the sheets and sweating.

Rumpelstiltskin was standing over her, holding her wrists as he had the first time she had a nightmare here. When she stopped moving he let her go, and she lay still, breathing heavily and trying to calm herself.

“You’re still having nightmares, aren’t you?” he asked gently, reaching out to hesitantly place his hand on top of hers. She didn’t flinch this time, instead sitting up in bed and leaning over to wrap her arms around his neck and press herself against him, eager for solidity, for touch, for anything that felt familiar. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Rumpelstiltskin gently returned her embrace her as he spoke, holding her like she was made of spun glass.

“I’m sorry,” Belle murmured into his shoulder. “I hadn’t been tossing around- I thought they would go away soon!”

“Was this the same as the others?”

A beat of silence passed.

“No,” she shook her head.

“Tell me.” Slowly, stuttering at first, she mumbled out everything to him, all the little details she could remember and even a few things that still seemed foggy. He listened patiently throughout, but grew completely still as she finished her story.

“I have something that might help,” he finally said, snapping his fingers. Belle lifted her head from where it rested against his chest to look at the object in his hand. It was a wooden loop with threads crossed in a pattern through it, a bit like a spider’s web. Three feathers hung from the bottom

“What is it?” She reached out to touch it slowly, letting one of the silky feathers slide through her fingers.

“It’s a dream catcher.” Rumpelstiltskin turned to the side and tied the string at the top to the rod for the curtains around her bed. It hung almost exactly above where she slept. “It’s a simple little magic object, but this one is more powerful. It’s usually a last resort for these things, but it will keep your nightmares at bay.”

“Thank you.” Belle swallowed hard, fighting to keep her limbs from shaking. The air felt thick and she was cold and clammy, but hopefully the dream catcher would serve its purpose.

Rum stayed where he was until she settled, stroking her hair with a strange tenderness until she finally slept. 

 

X

 

Rumpelstiltskin marched down the stairs in a flurry, running towards the library. There was a very particular book he needed to consult, and if that failed, a very particular sorceress. The dream catcher should help Belle to sleep now, but things were far worse than he’d imagined.

He wanted to scream, to cry, to take the world and crush it between his fingers if he knew that it would change anything, but it was useless.

Belle’s dream had been too real. It was too vivid, too accurate, and too much a stretch from what her other nightmares had been. She had screamed in very real terror before he woke her, sweating and kicking, clawing at the air and calling out to no one in particular for help. She was too frightened to notice, but the air in the room was thick with magic, strands tangling around each other in intricate patterns, practically infesting the space. 

Dreams didn’t do that.

There was only one possible explanation for this, and it wasn’t one he wanted to face, because if he was right it meant that Belle’s latest episode wasn’t a dream at all.

It was a premonition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed cranky morning Belle's feature.  
> Thanks so much for all your support for this story and my writing in general!


	9. Scales

With the help of the dream catcher, the nightmares waned slowly. At least, the nightmare about Rumpelstiltskin waned, and stopped altogether within three days. She no longer woke gasping for air.

She still dreamed, sometimes, of the dark room and the rope around her wrists, the pain in her back and the water dripping from the corner. She still woke with Rumpelstiltskin standing over her, still wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder. The dreams never became any easier to bear.

Rumpelstiltskin usually went through it all with amazing patience, especially for a man who (she assumed) wasn’t used to being touched so. He would hold her very gently, like he was uncertain what to do, and wouldn’t say a single word the entire time. She wondered sometimes, how this had come to be; how after everything said and done, it all ended up with these moments in the dark. How it ended up with her trusting him, and not only trusting, but wanting him there.

And, to a degree, she was horribly confused about it.

After the fourth or fifth time the nightmare occurred (she didn’t bother to keep an exact count, but she knew they were becoming more frequent), Belle was beginning to feel like a nuisance. He didn’t need to keep waking her up– even though she suspected that Rum kept to a different sleeping routine than she, it made her feel like a bother, which was the last thing she wanted. For all their ups and downs, Rumpelstiltskin had been good to her. The more she studied, the more she came to understand that there was something… something not _human_ in him, something dark that didn’t belong there. His natural mannerisms were gentle, shown in his the few moments that she observed him at the spinning wheel, and in the way he guided her hands when she had to mix a potion for her studies.

“I’m sorry,” Belle sniffed, slowly detaching herself from him. 

“What?” Rum asked. She couldn’t read his expression in the low lighting, but he seemed confused. 

“I’m sorry for this. I– I don’t mean to cause trouble-”

“No, no, no, dearie,” he crooned softly, pulling her back to him in an embrace that was almost stifling. “It’s not your fault.” Belle was surprised, but… it wasn’t unpleasant. She felt safe, letting her head rest against his chest and breathing in the scent of straw and leather. No one had held her like this since she was a child and came home after she was caught in a storm, soaked to the bone and terrified. It was comforting- very unlike Rum, but comforting.

Sleep tugged at the edges of her consciousness, and sometime between then and dawn she must have given in.

X

Belle slept in his arms, curled against him with her head on his chest, and he didn’t have the heart to wake her. They were half-sitting on the mattress, leaning against the headboard and propped up pillows. It was simply the routine that had come from Belle explaining her dreams. 

The premonition was almost always the same. The dream catcher could only block it for so long. It was bound to resurface- premonitions were just too strong for it- but he could give her a little peace. 

According to the book he’d found, premonitions were almost impossible to avert. Both premonitions and prophecies could be about either another person or the person foretelling the incident, but in this case he was almost certain that Belle’s prophecy was about herself. She was looking out her own eyes, and had even complained of a lingering pain in her wrists and ankles after waking.

Besides the type of magical residue left behind, there was only one difference between a premonition and a prophecy, but it was a vital difference. Prophecies were set in stone once foretold. Premonitions were only a reflection of the most likely path that the future _could_ take... but not necessarily the one it _would_. 

If he was careful, Belle’s fate could be averted.

She trusted him, trusted him enough to fall asleep in his arms even after what he’d put her through. Something was coming for her, and coming fast, judging by the frequency that the premonitions were breaking through the dream catcher.

He had to stop this.

He owed her that much.

X

“Not here!”

Belle was up on a ladder looking for a sorcery book, talking to Troubadour as she went. The wizard was trying to help her find the missing volume of the books on the four elements. So far she’d come across books on light, books on transformations, books on healing, and even a book on cooking with magic. All could be useful in their time, but right now she needed to find the advanced water magic volume- she had a particular question about the different forms of water that needed to be answered.

“Try looking on the shelf to the left!” Troubadour called from his wall. He was usually extremely helpful when it came to missing items in the library, but it was like the book didn’t _want_ to be found!

Belle climbed down, pushed the ladder over, and was on her way back up again when a book caught her eye.  
It was old, the pages yellowed and the leather binding cracked. A tattered red ribbon poked out shyly from the top, marking a page. There were other several envelopes and notes tucked between the pages, causing it to bulge stand out from the other neatly filed tomes. She stopped about halfway up the tall ladder to stroke her fingers over the binding gently. One touch made her skin tingle with magical residue. Interesting. Objects didn’t just collect magic randomly- they had to be around it for a long time to absorb any. This book had clearly belonged to a sorcerer.

Belle tugged on the spine, but it wouldn’t budge. Stubborn little thing, she thought. It could be that it was stuck, or it could be that the book just didn’t want to move. With that much magic on it, anything was possible. 

“Belle?”

She paused from pulling at the book to look down. Rumpelstiltskin was standing on the library floor, a strange expression on his face. A glance at the wall showed that Troubadour had returned to his inanimate wooden state.

“What on earth are you doing up there, dearie?” The Spinner seemed almost amused.

“Looking for a book!” She shrugged, turning back to the shelf. Balancing herself carefully on the ladder, she used both hands to pull on the spine. One tug, nothing. Two, slight slack. Three-

“Whoa!” Belle cried out as the book came loose, losing her balance and tumbling from the ladder. For a split second she braced herself for the shock of hitting the floor, but the floor didn’t come. Instead of hard wood, there was a soft thud and a jerk as she landed in Rumpelstiltskin’s arms. 

She didn’t realize her eyes were squeezed shut until she opened them, or that her arms were locked around his neck until she thought to loosen her grip. He seemed almost as surprised as she was, staring back at her with a dazed expression.

“Th- thank you,” Belle mumbled, breathless. Her heart was pounding against her ribs, and for a moment she was unsure if it was the fall… or something else. Rumpelstiltskin sat her down gently, but he seemed reluctant to remove his hands from her waist, and she still had her arms around his shoulders.

“Yes… well…” His eyes flicked down and then back up to meet her gaze, and Belle suddenly realized that they had never been quite this close before… not like this. She could taste his breath on her tongue, something like spices and a strange sweetness that she couldn’t name, and she only registered that her eyes were fluttering closed when…

Knocking.

Someone was knocking on the front door, loudly and insistently.

They both jumped back as if struck, looking down at the floor.   
“We’re having a rather curious number of visitors recently, aren’t we?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, turning on his heel to go and answer the door. He motioned over his shoulder for Belle to follow him. She blinked, trying to clear her head. Had she really been…? Had they almost…? Belle’s heart beat even faster than it had before.

She had almost _kissed_ Rumpelstiltskin.

What was getting into her?

Shaking her head to try to clear the haze around her thoughts, Belle straightened her skirts, and hurried after him. She moved quickly, and had just caught up to him by the time the door opened.

There was a small man dressed in black leather standing in the doorway, wearing a strange-looking helmet adorned with black feathers and carrying a scroll. 

“I am a messenger from Queen Regina,” the man said, rather grudgingly. “She wanted me to give you this, and gave me explicit instructions to remind you about the upcoming census.” He held out the scroll to Rumpelstiltskin, who promptly snatched it up and assumed his usual stance of greeting visitors, draping his arm about Belle’s waist.

“You’re not a messenger, and I’m not stupid, dearie,” he growled. “You’re the Queen’s huntsman- I can smell it on you. Missing a heart, no doubt...” Belle did her best not to react to the last statement, but the name Regina still rang loudly in her ears.  
Queen Regina was the driving force behind the clerics, or so the rumors went. With any luck, this man wouldn’t know what he was looking for, but if word got around that she was here… Belle wasn’t ready to face those consequences yet. She wasn’t strong enough. The man nodded slightly in her direction as Rum read the scroll silently.

“Good afternoon, Miss…?”

“Rose,” Belle blurted. It was the first name that came to her mind, and she didn’t want her real name getting back around to the queen.

“A lovely name. Rumpelstiltskin isn’t usually one for company.” The remark was clearly intended to be casual, but Belle saw the Spinner cut his eyes in her direction. If the man was truly missing a heart, he was probably fishing for information. 

“Oh, I’m not company, I’m…” She was about to announce herself as the housekeeper, but a housekeeper wouldn’t answer the door with the master of the house, and certainly not with his arm about her so… “I’m his wife.”

To his credit, Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes widened only by a fraction. The messenger, however, looked as if he’d just swallowed a fly.

“You’re… you’re his _wife_?”

“But of course.” Rumpelstiltskin fell right into the part and pulled her just a little closer, letting the scroll curl back up in his other hand. He tucked it into his jacket, presumably for safekeeping.

“We made a deal,” Belle shrugged. 

“For _what_?” The messenger was obviously not going to get over this shock anytime soon.

“She wanted a rather _large_ favor, and I was in need of… companionship,” Rum shrugged. The messenger turned positively green. Belle smiled, only a little forcibly. She didn’t appreciate the insinuation, but what was he supposed to believe- that someone was _in love_ with Rumpelstiltskin?  
She tried very, very hard to push away the thought that it might not be as out of the question as he thought.

“Yes, well…” the messenger stammered, his eyes flicking between Belle and the Spinner, “I’ll be going now.” He had barely turned around when the doors slammed shut again.

“So…” Rum began, shifting his position to rest his hands on Belle’s hips, holding her close to him. “You’re my wife now, are you?”

“I suppose I am.” The corner of her mouth twitched into a shy smile, much to her embarrassment. “What was I supposed to tell him? Regina can’t know I’m your apprentice, and I assume that people don’t usually… _fondle_ their housekeepers.”

“I don’t fondle, love,” he scoffed, but his actions said otherwise, fingers dancing along her spine and playing with the ends of her long hair. She’d barely noticed that her hands were resting on his shoulders, but she _had_ noticed the change in his endearment.

“Then what is it you’re doing now… _love_?” Belle bit her lip lightly, immediately noticing the subtle change in his expression. He leaned forward slightly so that his lips were next to her ear, breath tickling her skin.

“I’m simply… appreciative,” Rum whispered, his tone speaking of far more than simple appreciation. He pulled away slowly, but Belle wasn’t about to let him get off so easily. Before she had time to think too much about what she was about to do, she turned her head and pressed her lips to his for a soft kiss.

It only lasted a moment, but a moment was long enough to feel his warm skin against hers, to taste a hint of him on her skin, and to understand that this was an action that could not be undone. When she looked up again he was staring at her, a strange, glassy look in his eyes.

Belle swallowed hard, suddenly losing any confidence she might have had, pushing away quickly and hurrying off to do something- _anything_ \- that might take her mind off this.

X

Rumpelstiltskin sank down in the large armchair in the hall- he hadn’t the strength to go anywhere else. Absently, he traced his fingers over his lips, still tingling from Belle’s mouth on his. What was he to think any longer?

It wasn’t love.

It couldn’t be love.

If it was love, then the kiss would have changed him- taken away his magic, broken his curse. Oh, he flirted and teased, but Belle… she wasn’t… she wasn’t in _love_ with him. No one in their right mind would even allow themselves to become as close to him as she had- love was a step too far. She was his apprentice, and that was all.

He dropped his hand to his side, shaking his head sadly. His chest ached, and his mind was churning, and Rumpelstiltskin knew that it _couldn’t_ be all, not to him. 

Belle was special. She was so… not _pure_ , never pure, nor innocent… but _good_. Her loving heart was the opposite of his darkness, and their powers fit together like lock and key. She cried against his shoulder when her premonitions became too much, and he protected her… sometimes without even knowing. The idiot messenger would never have been able to get through the wards if he’d had any harmful intentions towards Belle. Rumpelstiltskin hadn’t even realized the spells were in place until he was examining the network of magic for tears, and noticed the extra layer. The subconscious was a powerful thing.

He loved her. God, he loved her.

The realization was both shocking and terrible, and it had taken Belle’s kiss for him to even come to terms with the extent of his feelings. It happened so slowly that he didn’t notice when he started paying attention to her little quirks; how often she slept in the library or if she was eating properly, her nightmares, and her plans after she left the castle.

What made it all worse was that he’d put it all off as concern for her ability as a sorceress, and not as love for her as a human being.   
Truly, there were only three problems with all of this, the first being that the kiss had done nothing. It was possible that it wouldn’t work if neither one of them had acknowledged their affections- True Love’s Kiss was finicky that way. In his experience, at least one party had to be consciously aware of their love for anything to happen. It could mean that Belle was not his _True_ Love, which was also possible. It could also mean that Belle was simply caught in the heat of the moment and did not love him, which was more likely.

The second problem was that if the curse were to break, he would lose all chances of finding his son. Without magic, he wouldn’t be able to track down Bae in the other world.

The third problem was that he was the Dark One, the embodiment of all Black Magic and evil, the Spinner, the Dealmaker, the terror of the Dark Castle. Love was pure and bright, something good that took root in your soul where the evil from the dagger now rested, black and rotten. Yes, this was problematic indeed. Rumpelstiltskin rested his head in his hands, trying not to hope. The Dark One did not love…

But perhaps, if he was very, very careful, Rumpelstiltskin could.

X

Belle ran back to the library, trying not to seem as flustered as she felt. Troubadour, though made of wood, was much smarter than he looked. He would pick up on her mood in an instant. She picked up the fallen book from where it lay open on the floor, still tingling with magic. The jolt of the fall must have been enough to break the strap holding it closed, and there were one or two papers scattered at other places.

“Well that was rather steamy, wasn’t it?” Troubadour’s voice wafted through the library and Belle jumped.

“Don’t start with this, Troubadour,” she sighed, slumping onto the floor with the book, her back against the she shelves.

“Alright, but I’m only stating what I observed…”

With a huff, Belle tucked her knees up and opened the book. The first thing she noticed was that it was handwritten in flowing cursive, and the pages were yellowed with age. Some of the more recent volumes were made with printing presses that allowed the books to be reproduced on massive scales, a wonderful but rather new invention. This book was old- very old.

The next thing she noticed were the dates- there were dates written at the top of every page in simple number notation, and the few drawings were done by hand with notations on the side. It looked like… a journal? 

She flipped back to the front to begin reading, but as soon as she started she realized it was impossible. Belle was intelligent, and she had read many books and knew a half dozen printed languages, but… not this one. If she wanted to read it, she’d have to translate it. The pages were so steeped with magic that taking any shortcuts would be impossible- she’d have to decipher it on her own, the hard way.

There was paper and ink in the desks to the side of the library, so she picked a spot and got to work. Anything was better than thinking about Rum– Rumpelstiltskin, she corrected. He couldn’t be Rum any longer, could he? It was too affectionate, too… _loving_. Belle bit back a sigh as she forced herself to work on the translation.

When had she fallen in love with him?

X

Several hours later, Belle was utterly drowning in papers with translation notes. There was a pile for notes on grammar, a pile for rough translations, a pile for sounds the characters might make, another pile for loose translations of words, and one lonely sheet for things she was sure were correct. When the papers became too much for the desk, she shifted to the floor, adrift in two large circles of papers.

Needless to say, progress was slow and Belle was exhausted and frustrated by the time the library door creaked open and Rumpelstiltskin tentatively stepped inside.

“What on earth have you gotten yourself into?” 

“More than I can handle,” Belle groaned, standing up. She was too frustrated to care about their kiss until he stepped just a bit closer to her than strictly necessary.

“Belle, I…” 

“It’s alright. I understand.” She dropped her eyes. It was obvious by his reaction that he didn’t want her, and their relationship would stay as before- master and apprentice. Rumpelstiltskin traced her jaw with his fingertips, lifting her chin so she was looking up at him.

“You don’t.” He kissed her softly, tentatively. As surprised as she was, Belle didn’t need any encouraging to kiss him back. Her body took care of everything for her, automatically wrapping her arms around him and tangling her fingers in his hair. 

_He does care_.

Very soon she was backed against the nearest bookshelf, Rum worrying her lower lip with blunt teeth and urging her mouth open under his. She was beginning to think that she could stay like this forever when he broke away with a soft cry of pain, leaning against her for support. Belle swallowed a gasp when she opened her eyes.

His skin was shifting color.

Well, not exactly shifting color, more like shifting form, looking oddly pink and… _normal_. His eyes were brown now, and seemed smaller, and she could tell by the way he leaned on her that all of his weight was on his left leg. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, obviously in pain. “I– I had to know.” His skin slowly shifted back to its familiar green scales, and when he looked at her again his eyes were blue. After a moment he pushed himself away from her, testing his weight on his right leg gingerly.

He looked like he was about to walk off, but turned back towards Belle at the last second, reaching out as if he wanted to touch her but thought better of it. One of her hands strayed to her lips against her will, remembering Rum there only a moment before. 

_“The Spinner uses Black Magic because that is what he is- it’s his personal curse and his own price for magic.”_ Frau Totekinder had told her that, the day they were in the woods. There was only one thing that could undo what had been done to Rumpelstiltskin, and until a few minutes ago Belle had thought it was a complete and utter myth– a children’s bedtime story told for comfort.

The Spinner turned and walked quickly towards the door.

X

“True Love’s Kiss,” Belle said suddenly. Her voice was soft, as if she was afraid of what he might say. Rumpelstiltskin stopped dead in his tracks, turning back to her. 

“What about it?”

“Don’t play the fool with me, Rumpelstiltskin. Totenkinder said your magic was your curse. And… I assume you didn’t always have scales.” If he didn’t know better, he would say she looked hopeful.

“No, but… I can’t say for sure, can I?” he snapped, hoping to brush the moment off, but Belle was on her feet in a second and walking towards him.

“Yes, you can. Tell me the truth, Rumpelstiltskin.” She was standing face to face with him now, mere inches away, head held high. Her eyes were brimming with unshed tears, and he knew that this was her moment, her moment to be the brave woman she’d wanted to be for so long… 

“The only magic powerful enough to break my curse _is_ True Love’s Kiss, dearie,” he admitted softly. He expected Belle to run away screaming, to hide or to pack her things and leave, but she did none of that. In fact, she stayed exactly where she was.

“So… you– I mean we– I…” she babbled, stumbling over her words. She sounded so vulnerable that it nearly broke his heart.  
Rumpelstiltskin stood silent for far too long before he responded. The Spinner told him yes, the little lame spinner from a tiny village who had always wanted a love like this. The Dark One told him no, that he couldn’t love and would never be able to, not if he wanted to keep his magic. Last of all, Rumpelstiltskin told him that it didn’t matter. He couldn’t _be_ loved, no matter what might happen.

He settled for an answer somewhere in the middle of all three.

Silence.

X

Belle felt like she might as well have been slapped. 

She didn’t run. She didn’t cry. She didn’t do the thousands of things that she wanted to do. Instead, she nodded solemnly and turned to leave the room.

“Belle-” She felt his hand on her wrist before the word registered. She stopped cold, but didn’t turn. 

“What is there left to _say_?!” Belle shouted, all of her patience gone. “Please, tell me, because I don’t understand! True Love-”

“It’s not,” Rumpestiltskin insisted, shaking his head. “It can’t be.”

“Why not?!” she screamed, anger and sorrow and disbelief combined into one question.

“ _Because no one could ever love me_!”

Belle took a step back at those words, shocked. Rumpelstiltskin swallowed hard, his breath coming in ragged gasps, turned, and left her alone in the library.


	10. The Diary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I apologize for the drastically long time it took for me to write this chapter. It was definitely the hardest to write so far, for a lot of reasons. **Remember how I said this story was going to get dark? We have arrived at that point.**
> 
> Secondly, this chapter is dedicated to [Robynne](http://archiveofourown.org/users/roberre), my lovely editor and friend, who critiques my midnight grammar mistakes and is also a precious ball of flails.

She didn’t leave the library for three days.

Rather than let herself wallow in rejection and confusion, Belle threw all of her efforts into translating the mysterious journal… and got absolutely nowhere for all that time. She’d scrapped all of her initial notes, made new ones, and then scrapped those. There were too many inconsistencies, and so much of the text didn’t seem to have a proper form.

Slumping against the desk in defeat, Belle shook her head, thinking very seriously about throwing the little book across the room.

“Erm… Belle?” Troubadour’s soft voice intruded on her thoughts. It was the first time he’d spoken to her since Rum left the library. She supposed he simply didn’t know what to say.

“Yes?”

“If I wasn’t stuck to the wall, I think I’d hug you.”

Despite herself, Belle laughed a little, sitting up again and shutting the diary. She would _not_ throw this book against the wall… though that was a determination based more on hope than truth.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, more out of respect for Troubadour than anything.

“Might I suggest… the book you’re translating. Have you ever thought that it might not be another language at all?” he asked. Belle looked around until she found his image on the wall to her left, raising her eyebrows.

“Are you saying the entire book is gibberish?” It didn’t seem likely to her, no matter how hard it was to crack.

“I am merely stating that it looks incredibly like a cipher to me.”

A code.

Belle groaned resting her head on the desk. The book could have been in code the whole time, and she’d been so focused on trying to figure out a language that she hadn’t even _thought_ about it!

She grabbed a clean sheet of paper and sighed, rubbing her forehead in frustration. Time to go back to the drawing board.

 

X

 

Hours later, Belle had a decent start on the translation. She’d managed to narrow the book down to three possible languages , judging by region of origin. The ink had a strange purple tint to it, which meant it came from the north. The pages and cover provided a little more information simply from the ornate style of binding, but the region was still very large, and she couldn’t narrow anything down without a more specific reference.

Now came the hard part- figuring out the code.

The simplest thing would be a letter for letter swap, which Belle had already tried with two of the three languages without any results. Any attempt to decode the book just resulted in… gibberish.

However, the last language was getting her somewhere.

It was an old language- dead, actually, which was why she hadn’t thought to try it first. Belle had automatically assumed that whatever language the diarist was writing in would also be the language that they spoke, but apparently that wasn’t the case. It was easiest to place the vowels first, and a few of the more common consonants, until finally she had translated a page coherently.

Five hours for one page.

Five _days_ if you counted all the time she’d spent before Troubador gave his advice.

The completed page read:

 

_Dear Reader,_

_Assuming that you’ve managed to crack my code, bravo. I’m writing this in the hopes that one day someone will glean some helpful information from it._

_So, to start off, the first thing that you should know about me is that I am eighteen years old, and that I come from a little town by the north sea- a tiny, peaceful place._

_The second thing you should know about me is that I am running from the clerics._

_I travel by night to avoid detection, looking for sanctuary with anyone, anywhere, living off the mercy of people who are kind to lonely travelers. I’m learning to use my magic bit by bit, but my hope is to find refuge in the abandoned Western stronghold. It’s said that magic still haunts those halls, and that is takes to visitors of its own kind._

_Perhaps it will be kind to me, but if it is not, then I don’t know what I am going to do._

The date was from 250 years ago.

Belle sat back against the shelves, unsure of what to make of this. The journal had obviously belonged to the last person who had run from the clerics- perhaps the one who made it away safely. Magic had preserved the book well.

She wanted to run upstairs, to talk to Rum about it and get his opinion, to find out what on earth she should _do_ , but she couldn’t find the will to move. He didn’t want to see her, and she wasn’t ready to talk to him yet, but she thought she was done translating for the day. Her neck was sore, her eyes were watering, and her fingers ached from writing. It was time for a break… and possibly a cup of tea.

So, rather than go anywhere, she curled up on one of the small couches in the library and went to sleep, surrounded by papers and hugging the little leather-bound book.

 

X

 

  _Dear Reader,_

_My name isn’t important. It doesn’t matter, so don’t worry about it. All that matters is this account, and that you will know what I know now._

_Most assume that those who escape the clerics escape through exile, and if that is true then we may never know, but I did not. I was captured, and brought back in chains to the original monastery to be broken and converted to their order. They starved me and beat me, they whipped me until my skin cracked and bled, and did all in their power to make me submit._

_I did._

_What was I to do? I was small and weak, and one can only hold out for so long against the clerics’ methods. When they decide you should be broken, you will be broken. The clerics do not serve a religious order, as so many think, but were named by their monk’s robes and the way they shut themselves off from the world in their monasteries. They serve one thing, and one thing alone: magic. And, occasionally, those who can wield it to best suit their purposes. _They break you, they train you enough that you can be initiated, and then they absorb you into the order before you can learn too much.__

_The clerics have the potential to be an extremely powerful order, powerful enough to control the world as we know it, if they weren’t held in check by long, bloody traditions of which I shan’t go into detail about. It would probably make you sick to hear- even after escape it makes me nauseous to think about, and the clerics haunt my dreams. If I live to be a thousand I don’t think I’ll ever forget…  The point is that they adhere to strict, archaic, and bloody rules, and that they broke me down and almost converted me to one of them. Almost._

_The final ritual, the initiation order, involves spilling blood. Specifically, magical blood. Each member of the order in the monastery where the initiation takes place (and they have many monasteries, Reader, never doubt that) puts a drop of their blood into a cup. Then, the new member slices their palm with a special dagger and lets their own blood spill into the cup._

_The blood turns to wine, and you drink it._

_It sickens me to think that I even made it far enough through initiation to get to that room. Blood for blood, they chanted. The phrase means spilling blood to gain a new member, referencing cutting your palm with the dagger, but something about “blood for blood” made me think “life for life” somewhere down in the recesses of my mind. When you are broken everything that makes you who you are, your very soul, is slowly squeezed out of you until the clerics build you back up into what they want you to be. Why was I there, I wondered? The clerics wanted me. How did I even come to be there? How long had it been? Who did I know before?_

_That’s when I remembered the blood. The real blood for blood, the reason that I hadn’t tried to run any farther or fight them any harder. They took away my hope. They killed my family._

_My mama, my papa, and my three sisters were all dead, murdered at their hands. And I was about to become one of them- a ruthless killer and magician who would stop at nothing to achieve their goals, not even the lives of children._

_When the dagger was in my hand, I stole it from the monastery and used it to fight my way out. After that, I ran. I believe that the only reason I was able to make it out alive was because I took them by surprise. Never before has anyone refused initiation so far in- I’ve read the texts and I’ve heard the rumors. The location of the dagger is recorded on a map tucked in the pages of this book, should anyone ever need to find it. I don’t know why you would want to._

 

X

 

_Dear Reader,_

_I made it to the Western fortress, but I may only be safe for a short while. I can feel the protection spells on this place, but they are old and weak, and need to be reinforced by someone with more power than I possess._

_Well, that isn’t technically true. A better term would be more skill than I possess._

_Warding spells take time and patience, and I am both pressed for time and have never been a very patient person. The magic that the clerics taught me was Dark Magic- black and vile, but it is the only magic that I know, and so I will use it rather than abandon all my training to learn a path that might be a little less bloody._

_I have seen plenty of blood in my time, dear reader. I hope you never are subjected to torture and training from the clerics, for your hands will forever be red from the stains._

 

X

 

_Dear Reader,_

_Two days ago I met the Black Forest Witch._

_She said that she sensed my predicament, but I’ve heard tales of her. It is more likely that she saw the future and realized that she might have something to gain by keeping me alive. He revived the warding spells with the magic familiar to me, in return for a favor… the location of the cleric’s dagger._

_I was reluctant to disclose the location to anyone, considering the amount of magical potential an item like that would have in the wrong hands, but she assured me that wherever I’d hidden it was useless. She would eventually sniff the thing out anyways, and best save her some time and keep myself owing her another boon. I spent all of yesterday and the day before questioning if my decision to tell her the location was wise._

_However, I used the Sight charm and watched the clerics coming over the hill this morning. They were unable to pass any closer than ten miles from the castle. If it weren’t for the Witch’s protection, I would be dead now._

_But now, as I dwell upon the power that all the blood magic residing in the dagger has, and what the world might make of it if they ever found it, I wonder if death might be the better option._

 

Frau Totenkinder. She’d met Frau Totenkinder.

Belle was well aware that the Black Forest Witch was very old, and it didn’t surprise her as much as it might have to learn that Totenkinder had been around (and very powerful) 250 years ago. She did wonder about the dagger, though.

Where did it go? Who got their hands on it? She highly doubted that Frau Totenkinder would have used it for evil, but this new development demanded research. She flipped through the pages of the diary, looking for anything that might give her a clue about the blood magic, but found the text impossible to decode at a glance.

There was, however, a folded piece of parchment that dropped out.

Belle unfolded it slowly, delicately, revealing that what appeared to be one sheet was actually two. The larger one was a map, detailing this land with a few markers pertinent to the diary’s story, such as the cleric’s monastery, the diarist’s hometown, and a tiny star marking the location of the dagger along a road. A notation to the side said “Under tree root.”

The smaller piece of paper was an ink drawing, very old and slightly smudged in places, of the dagger itself. It was long and thin, and the blade sort of… waved. There were notes scrawled all around it in the same code.

 

_The dagger draws magic from the blood it comes into contact with. It was originally only a ceremonial initiation rite, but I’ve heard whispers of the power it holds. More so, I’ve felt it. Traveling with it takes its toll on you- the magic it holds is born of pain and blood and black hearts, and staying around it for too long is dangerous to your very soul. That is why I hid it in the first place._

_The clerics talked once of using the dagger as a means to harness magic, so whoever possessed it could control the powers of the thousands of meager magicians that went into it, creating a sorcerer beyond belief. It would take time and practice, but eventually it would be worth the effort._

_There was also a theory that possession of the dagger, since it had been stained with the blood of so many who would live indeterminately long lives, would grant virtual immortality._

_I never cut my palm with the dagger. I have never been more relieved._

_I did not want power. That is never what I dreamed of , for myself or for my family. I only expected to live a simple life, to find a husband and grow old with the people I loved, but that has been ripped away from me. I will never have that chance, but I swear that someday, some other little girl in my place will. She will have all the hope that I never had, because I will give it to her. I will protect her from the fate that befell me, and I will not stop until every last cleric on this earth knows the reality of what they have done, all the lives they have destroyed, and all the darkness they have spread. _

_Some things are worth sacrificing your life for._

_But what of your soul?_

 

Two hundred and fifty years…

The last girl to be taken by the clerics. The last person who might be able to give any indication of what her powers were or where to go, or even how to handle them.

The last person who understood what was happening to her.

And she had magic… so there was every possibility that she could still be _alive_.

Belle couldn’t be sure how the diarist got away, and she most definitely didn’t know how this diary came to be in Rumpelstiltskin’s library, but it had to have gotten here somehow. She hadn’t read much, but it didn’t seem like the book’s original owner would be one to give her diary to just anyone. Perhaps she put it here for safekeeping? But then… why leave it with the Dark One? Couldn’t he use all the information about the dagger for his own interests?

She should go up and ask him about it.

She really should…

But she was stubborn and hurt, and she refused.

Her feet refused to move her out of the library and up the tower stairs. Her mind refused to admit that she needed his help. Her heart refused to stop its incessant aching every time she thought of him.

Perhaps it was alright to be cowardly sometimes, just for a little while, to curl into the safety of what you knew and stay there until the storm passed… but almost as soon as the notion crossed her mind, she dismissed it. Sooner or later she would have to face him, and as much as she would prefer later (much, _much_ later), it might be better to just get it over with.

After all, she would be asking him for permission to leave.

The Western fortress where the diarist supposedly went was marked on the map. It would be a fortnight’s journey from here on foot, but she could travel through the woods and cut her path by a day or two. (Magical transportation was something Belle was still wary of). If this woman had been hunted by the clerics as a child, and Rumpelstiltskin said that the power she possessed was the same as Belle’s… The diarist, whoever she was, could provide answers. Assuming she was still alive, but wasn’t that a risk worth taking to find someone who knew what you’d been through? To find the last person ever to escape the clerics?

Maybe she could help her. Maybe there was a way to find a balance between the light and the dark. Maybe there was a way to control the power without letting it warp her, twist her into something she was not. The longer she trained, the more she felt like the magic was a part of her, but it also scared her.

Look at what magic had done to so many people.

It hurt the diarist, drove her away from her home and drove others to murder her family. It prompted centuries’ worth of bloodshed by the clerics. It corrupted Rumplestiltskin’s last apprentice and twisted her into something unnatural and inhuman. It created a streak of darkness running through the land. It created the murderous Queen Regina (no one was quite sure of her beginnings), and it transformed Rumpelstiltskin into something that was no longer human.

But not a monster, she thought. Never a monster.

Cruel. Distant. Manipulative. Heartless, at times, but never a monster. She could never look back at the kiss they shared, however fleeting and dreamlike the moment, and call him a monster. She could never look back on the nights she fell asleep with her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and call him a monster.

No matter how hurt and dejected she might feel, she couldn’t overlook that.

But she could avoid him for just a little longer.

 

X

 

As it turned out, she only managed to use the diary as an excuse for another few hours, and was halfway through translating it when she realized that there wasn’t time to waste.

She could translate as she traveled- perhaps hire a buggy or a hitch a ride with a farmer- but she couldn’t hide behind her cowardice any longer. By hiding, Belle only prolonged the inevitable. She finally convinced herself to pick up the diary, and go looking for Rumpelstiltskin.

He wasn’t in the tower.

He wasn’t in the dining room.

He wasn’t in the dungeons, or the garden.

Finally, Belle walked back up to her own rooms, defeated and thinking of bathing (she didn’t feel _clean_ after days in the same clothes in the mildly dusty library). When she opened the door, however, she heard a strange sliding noise. She looked down to see a plain piece of folded paper, no doubt tucked half in and half out of the door.

 

_Belle-_

_I’m sorry to leave you like this, but I’m afraid I have no other option.Certain new developments to our… relationship put both of us at great risk. You may stay in the castle if you like and continue your studies. Our oath is binding- you needn’t leave until you feel it is necessary. There are wards here that should keep the clerics away._

_I do not know when I will return. If I return._

_-Rum_

 

Belle calmly folded the paper once more and tucked it into the pages of the diary. She had to force herself not to cry or scream, not to let her anger or sorrow wash over her rational mind. Rumpelstiltskin might give into his cowardice, but she would not.

And someday she would come back and pry the answers she wanted- nay, _needed_ \- from his lips, either with kisses or curses.

If Rum wasn’t going to give her answers, she would bloody well find out on her own. She could pack food from the kichens, and no doubt the wardrobe would supply appropriate clothing with a single word from her. She had the diary. She had the map. She had the defensive magic that Rumpelstiltskin had taught her over the past three and a half months.

Everything would be just fine.

It would be fine.

She chanted that over and over in her mind as she prepared to leave, as she walked out of the castle and followed the western road on the map. She chanted it to the rhythm of her footsteps on the dusty road, to the beating of her heart on dark nights in the forest, to the thrumming of horses’ hooves as they passed her by. She chanted it against the cooling, soothing sound of the spring rain. She chanted it as the first glimpses of her destination, the gloomy, gray, crumbling castle, appeared through the dense forest…

And she was still chanting it when arms wrapped around her waist in a viselike hold, her wrists and ankles were bound with rope, a blindfold tied over her eyes and a gag shoved into her mouth, and a dizzying wave of dark magic washed over her senses.

She stopped chanting it just before her world went black.

 


	11. Broken and Barred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a warning now and an apology for my ever-horrible updating later.
> 
> THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS TORTURE AND BLOODY SITUATIONS. THIS IS WHERE THE MATURE RATING KICKS IN. For those of you who might be worried, there is no sexual assault of any kind, but please do not continue reading if you have a weak stomach or if you could be triggered by a slightly-above-moderately graphic torture scene.

She was hanging from a bar like a piece of meat, wrists in shackles and the chains looped over the bar. Her head was bowed low, feet not quite touching the cold ground, staring at stone stained red from victims past. Her matted brown hair stuck to her back and shoulders, slick with sweat and caked with blood. Water dripped from the corner, day in and day out, sometimes lighter and sometimes heavier, the only evidence that time was still passing.

_Tell us his weakness._

_I don’t know._

Her only pieces of what could be considered clothing were two wide pieces of dirty white cloth, one wrapped around her breasts, and the other around her hips, which afforded little modesty compared to the long skirts and full-sleeved blouses that were considered proper. In her mind she may as well have been naked, every curve of her form outlined, the rise and fall of her chest with every shaking breath clearly pronouncing “ _Yes, yes she’s still alive_.” Her pale skin was marred by bruises and blisters, cuts that still leaked dark red blood, and she was positive that if she ever made it out of here alive, the ache from hanging this way so long would never fade.

As if the torture wasn’t enough- the whips and the knives, the blood and the rope- the clerics began to assault her with dark magic. They dragged her up from the dungeons at random intervals, clothed in black robes that hid their faces from sight, and threw her in a room with two or more clerics. They would just sit there for days on end, radiating darkness and corruption, waiting for it to take hold of her veins, to grasp at something in her, to find a hold in her soul and _stick_ there.

It was like trying to swallow fire.

The magic hurt. It hurt like a heartache, and a soul ache, and a body ache, except they were all coming at you at the same time and they were all worse than you had ever known before. She could feel it scrabbling around inside her, probing her mind and her heart, looking for her darkest secrets and tossing words at her over and over, words meant to break her down until she was less than nothing.

_He never loved you. He won’t come for you._

_That’s not true._

The only light in her prison came from two ornate candelabras, stationed on either side of the door. Windows weren’t allowed- it was too easy for her to keep track of time that way. Her “cell” did not have walls like the others lining the circular, dungeon-like room, but was defined by a raised stone area on the floor that she dangled above. The other prisoners were forbidden to talk to her, and seemed to be either dead or asleep except for the man who constantly paced back and forth in his cell, waving his hands like a lunatic. Occasionally the guards would come for him, guiding him out and saying he had work to do, but he would always come back, always hang his top hat on a hook beside the door and be shoved back into his cell.

_Why did you leave?_

_Because I had to._

Belle had no idea how long she’d been there. Her earlier cuts had already healed and left scars, so she knew it had probably been a few weeks at the least. Regina had taken her captive shortly after she’d left Rumpelstiltskin, and set her clerics to do the work after that. They bound her hands and let her hang while they interrogated her, and if she didn’t answer or said she didn’t know then they would strike out with knives or whips, or clubs. Death didn’t even have the mercy to knock at her door, because the clerics had the power to bring her back to life if her body was still warm, healing only enough of her to make sure that she would live. The pain was constant and terrible.

_We’ve tried all our methods, your Majesty._

_Find a way._

They told her that he had never loved her- that he sent her away like a stinking gutter rat, but she knew in her heart it wasn’t true. She had seen the change after their kiss, seen the look in his eyes for that one brief moment before everything shattered. There was no explanation as to why she hadn’t been rescued yet, but it wasn’t because Rumpelstiltskin didn’t care for her.

_She won’t break. Her spirit is too strong._

_If you can’t break her, kill her._

Her magic wouldn’t work in this place. The dungeon walls had a powerful spell cast on them that choked out all magic except that of the lady of the castle, Queen Regina. She was shielded from the world, undetectable and practically nonexistent.

Belle wasn’t stupid. She’d heard the stories, and she knew what they wanted. It was her own fault for thinking she could handle this on her own, and now she was trapped, hanging in a cellar until she either died and her corpse was eaten by the flies, or her very soul rotted within her.

She would not break.

She would _not_ break.

Hopelessness slowly crept its way into the back of her mind, as much as she tried her best to keep it out. There was nothing she could do but bear the pain. Only her dreams kept her struggling to stay alive, when she managed to sleep between her torments.

The first one had come a long time ago, on her third night in this place, back when she still bothered to keep track of the nights.

 

X

 

Belle was gone.

He told himself that day after day, and it never became any easier to say. The Dark One, the dagger’s magic, insisted there was no reason to be so hung up over a stupid apprentice, that she was expendable and unnecessary in the grand scheme of things.

But the part of him that was still Rumpelstiltskin knew better than that.

About two weeks after she left, an unexpected visitor appeared, walking up the footpath to his castle. Not many people used that route- usually the non-magical ones, but occasionally unwanted company would be deterred from entering magically by the wards all around the castle. Rumpelstiltskin stared out the window suspiciously, taking in the figure approaching slowly.

The traveler was a woman, or it seemed like it. At this distance it might also be a man with long hair… but no. The telescope confirmed it- a woman. Adjusting the magic-enhanced lens, Rumpelstiltskin sized her up from a distance.

Blond curls tumbled down her back in scraggly, frizzy masses, probably in need of a good wash and brushing out. An odd-looking, horned headdress sat atop her head, tangled hopelessly amongst her yellow hair. Her face was pale; skin smooth and young; a red blush in her cheeks from wind burn and walking up the mountain path; badly chapped, bloody lips parted; strangely violet-colored eyes wide. Unseasonably long and heavy robes in black, silver, and shades of purple trailed behind her like a dark river, tattered and fraying at the edges, sleeves so long they almost touched the ground, but she didn’t seem to have any trouble walking in the massive amounts of heavy fabric.

She carried no bags, wore no cloak, and though she looked bedraggled she had obviously not walked this entire way. The gleam in her eyes could not be taken for anything but sheer determination.

Bloodthirsty, _malicious_ determination.

Damn- what had he done now?

The Dark One started down the stairs with a sigh, ready and waiting when her knock finally came several minutes later.

When he opened it, though, he was not expecting what he saw. Perhaps you had to be close to her to notice how utterly worn and broken she was. Perhaps it took more than a telescope to notice her posture, how she seemed to command attention with every fiber of her being, and how she was actually several inches taller than Rumpelstiltskin.

“Ah… forgive my ignorance, dearie,” he began, raising an eyebrow, “but who on earth are you, and why are you here?”

The woman took a deep breath, as if considering her words carefully. Her head dipped as she looked down, the horned headdress glinting menacingly in the afternoon sun.

“When I was born my parents named me something you might remember, but that name has been lost to most of the world with time. Most of the people who live in the western lands know me as Maleficent.”

“You didn’t answer the second question.” He waited patiently as her violet eyes rose and settled on him with an eerie sort of calm, like ice or water as it caresses you into the final sleep, soothing and soft as it wrenches the life from your chest.

“Tell me, Rumpelstiltskin... are you aware of the location of your apprentice?”

 

X

 

The last thing she saw was darkness, and the last thing she felt was a slashing pain across her torso. Then she was unconscious.

Just as well. Unconsciousness was not death. Her last thought was that they might leave her be for a few hours.

She awoke at night, a moonless, starless night, stretched out across cool green grass. A glance to her left revealed that she was close to the Lake of Dreams, inches away from the pebbles that made the shore, bright white even in the near total darkness, contrasting the black water.

Sitting up slowly, Belle ran her arms over herself, feeling for blood and wounds that would still be tender, but there was nothing- not even pain. Trying to stand made her dizzy, so she sat on the lake shore, inexplicably at peace. Was it all a dream? Surely she couldn’t have dreamt something as horrible as…

It would make much more sense if this was the dream, and the pain was reality. A wave of despair washed over her despite the momentary relief from the clerics. She brushed a hand across her face, and noticed it was wet with tears. She’d been crying.

No… she was _still_ crying.

But why? Where _here_? She wasn’t in pain. She was calm and aware, and not even sleepy. The black water of the lake lapped the shore softly beside her.

Wait. _Lapped_?

The water in the Lake of Dreams didn’t lap. It was still- eerily still and warm even when it shouldn’t be, utterly resistant to any kind of movement. And the clerics… there should be a wound. She should be covered in blood and bruises, but she wasn’t. Instead of shreds of fabric she was clad in a clean white linen dress. And the sky… It was so black that she shouldn’t even be able to see, much less pick out the lapping of lake water and the lack of rocks beside the shore, and the stones on the path weren’t shimmering like they should. Where was she? What was going on? Because whatever was happening… she didn’t think she was still beside the same lake.

“Hello?!” Belle’s voice echoed in the night. “Is anyone there?”

No response.

She stood slowly, and didn’t lose her balance this time. Thought she was reluctant to leave the lake, she had to find out what was going on, and the best way to do that was to get back up to the castle. The path went back through the rose garden, the vines strangely bare… When she left they had been bursting with blood red flowers.

Entering the hallway, Belle found the Dark Castle strangely… well, dark. The tapestries that had once haunted her dreams no longer carried their lifelike glow, and even the walls themselves seemed to be dim and despondent. It felt like a different place entirely.

The dining room was the only place in the castle that she found any light, streaming through the windows and unnaturally bright, and seated at the table were two men. One very tall, with skin like snow and inky black hair, and another, slightly shorter man with straw-colored hair and normal skin. Both had their backs to her. She squinted into the light as she started down the steps, careful to keep her footfalls silent.

The men sat beside each other at the center of the long table, conversing quietly despite the fact that there was no one to hear them. The silence in this place was almost palpable.

Well, until Belle stepped on a creaking stair.

Both men turned, shocked, and all three stood in a daze for heartbeat, before Belle started to back away slowly, then more quickly. She hit something as she moved, and turned to see that it was the pale man standing calmly on the stair behind her.

_But- he just- he was over there!_

Panicked, Belle turned and ran up the other staircase, leading the opposite direction from the landing, and through the door….

And ran right back into the same room through the door on the other side.

She should have come out into the hallway.

She scrambled away from the two men walking towards her as the door shut on its own. The tall man’s robes trailed the floor behind him, so black that they seemed to take away from the very light itself, and made his pale skin seem to glow. His eyes were black, but shone like stars, and his expression was impassive, calm… _serene_ , almost. The shorter man stepped in front of him, murmuring something quietly, and his companion nodded, staying silent and still as the grave.

The shorter man approached slowly. His steps were uneven, and Belle noticed he walked with a cane. The ends of his hair just brushed his shoulders, and his soft brown eyes regarded her in a way that was not unfriendly. He held out a hand slowly to her.

“Don’t be frightened, Belle.”

Well, naturally, that only made her more frightened, and she scrambled even farther into the corner between the door and the back wall.

“Who are you?” she stammered, eyes flicking back and forth between the two.

“Ah…” the shorter man turned and caught the eye of the taller one, who nodded.

“It seems I’ve caught you at a bad time. Perhaps tomorrow?” the dark-haired man questioned. There seemed to be some kind of silent agreement, and then Belle blinked… and he was gone.

One more blink and she woke up in the dungeons.

 

X

 

“ _What do you mean the_ clerics _have got her_?!” Rumpelstiltskin roared, voice echoing through the castle halls.

“I mean exactly what I said,” Maleficent snapped. “And I don’t want her hurt any more than you do.”

“Why?” he sneered. She seemed incredibly unwilling to divulge any more information than was necessary, but Belle was missing, and if this woman was telling the truth it meant that Belle’s life was in danger. There wasn’t time for games.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.” Everything mattered in a situation like this. Taking information from the wrong person might wind up with Belle dead, or worse… under the clerics’ influence.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU HAVE DONE?” Maleficent’s voice echoed around the castle, penetrating every corridor, every room, every hidden passageway, so thunderous that even Troubadour trembled on his wall in the library. She threw out her hands and a wave of energy threw Rumpelstiltskin against the opposite wall with a sickening thud. He picked himself up off the floor quickly, unprepared for the fit of rage taking over the sorceress.

“Do you know the _evil_ you have thrown her into against her will?” Maleficent’s eyes flashed purple, dark smoke curling around her feet. “Do you know what really goes on in the  monastery? I DO!”

A wind with no source whipped through the circular room, overturning chairs, candelabras, and the heavy wooden table in the center. The smoke around Maleficent smelled of acid, burning his nose and making his eyes water. Her voice took on a strange, metallic edge, and her eyes grew glassy, as if she wasn’t seeing him any longer.

“ _There is blood and bone and burning, torture, the cruelest form of magic you have ever seen. They expose you for everything you are and they break you down until you are nothing but dust, and then they bring back the dust into whatever they want it to be!_ ”

After that her words were unintelligible, a rapid kind of lyrical lost language that was too loud and contorted to follow. Maleficent was not in control any longer, that much was obvious- something or someone had taken over her form. She was just a voice now.

And power.

Lots of magical power at its disposal.

“ENOUGH!” Rumpelstiltskin roared above the din. “Whatever power is speaking to me, _you will leave her this instant_!” A lightning bolt struck the stone castle floor from seemingly nowhere, called by his magic, snapping Maleficent from her trance. The wind stopped immediately and she crumpled to the floor in a heap, limp as a rag doll.

As he walked over to the pile of purple and black robes on the floor, Rumpelstiltskin was momentarily unsure if she was alive or dead.

“Do you know the weapon you have given them?” she asked quietly, panting. Maleficent looked up at him, eyes a perfectly normal shade of blue-gray, seeming small and broken and very childlike. Her wild mass of curls hung half in her face, mouth parted, eyes swimming with tears.

“You are going to tell me who you are, and why you have an interest in Belle right now, or you are going to walk away from my castle and never return,” Rumpelstitlskin said, his voice a harsh whisper.

 “I have an _interest_ in your friend because I used to _be_ her,” Maleficent snapped, voice rising with every word. “I know what goes on behind the walls of that monastery. Do you? I was locked inside as a child- I was tortured, I _escaped_ … and I swear to you on my life: you will not get her out without my help.” Her last words were practically a scream, echoing towards the heavens. She didn’t seem to have the strength to stand, pounding the floor with one hand and releasing excess energy that made the castle shake. It looked like the possession had taken nearly everything out of her. “Do you really want to know who I am, Dark One?”

The Dark One did not respond.

“I am the Dragon,” she said softly, sounding oddly broken and disconnected from her words. “I am the manifestation of fire and rage, of ancient power trapped in an all-too-mortal body. I am the product of blood and murder and darkness. I have walked the earth for a hundred years, I…” Maleficent pulled herself up from the floor with great difficulty, leaning against the wall for support.

“I am a lost little girl taken from her family too soon. I am the monster from the monastery… and I am hunting for my maker.”

So the legend was true.

“You’re _her_ ,” Rumpelstitlskin breathed. “You’re the one that ran away, aren’t you? How long has it been- two hundred years?”

“Two hundred and fourteen.” She nodded slowly, sagely. “Now… are you ready to listen to what I have to say?”

 

X

 

The next time she dreamed, the two men were there.

“Please, Belle.” The smaller one turned to her and offered his hand once more. Something about his voice sounded familiar… his accent, maybe? She still didn’t move.

“Why should I trust you?” Belle felt ridiculous- she was dreaming, wasn’t she? Nothing could hurt her here, and yet…

“Well, I can see you have an abundance of other options right now, dearie.” He rolled his eyes. Belle’s face suddenly lit up with realization. _Dearie_.

“Ru- Rumpelstiltskin?” She raised an eyebrow. How hadn’t she noticed before? The change after their kiss… his voice was the same now, and he walked with a limp from the same leg that caused him pain before.

This was Rumpelstiltskin _before_ his curse took him.

“There it is!” He snatched her hand and pulled her onto her feet quickly, grasping her waist to keep her from falling. Soft brown eyes gazed into her pale blue ones, and she realized how much she must look like a frightened deer to him. There was a kindness in his gaze that was so out of place that she wanted to run again… but she wouldn’t. Not today.

After all… there didn’t seem to be a _point_ in running.

“But you’re not…” she trailed off, embarrassed that she’d brought it up without thinking.

“Green? Scaled? Monstrous?” He raised his eyebrows teasingly. “Or was it the cane that gave it away?” Belle stood still as a stone, stunned to silence, striving to find some way that everything might fit into order. The last thing she remembered... the clerics. Pain. Where was she that things could fall so easily into place, and the pain so easily vanish? Everything felt _wrong_ here- even the stars weren’t shining in the sky like they should.

 “I’m not really at the Dark Castle, am I?” Belle asked carefully, weighing her words. There were dreams, and there was magic. She needed to distinguish between the two now. Rumpelstiltskin released her with a soft sigh. The taller man, the one with ghastly pale skin and robes blacker than night, did not speak.

“I knew you were bright,” he mused, motioning for her to follow as her turned and walked down the staircase. “I’d like to give you a straight answer to your question, but a simple answer wouldn’t be a true one.”

“So what’s the true answer?” Belle asked, so close behind him that she nearly trod on his heels.

“In a way, yes, and in a way, no.” Rumpelstiltskin spoke without turning to look at her, cane and footsteps echoing out a click-clack pattern on the stone floor.

“Where am I?” Her question was so pleading that he turned to look at her, small and fragile and yet… there was such a spark behind her frightened eyes.

“You are wherever you want to be.”

 

X

 

Maleficent and Rumpelstiltskin sat in the library, buried in papers.

“You never told me how you knew Belle.” He was prodding for information, and very openly, but at this point curiosity overrode discretion. Maleficent had insisted they be as prepared and up-to-date as possible on what happened behind the monastery walls, so they were sifting through piled and piles of books, some of which were over a hundred years old.

“I don’t.” Maleficent continued to rifle through maps, never once looking up.

“Then-”

“I saw her taken. I was too far off to be of any use, especially with the powerful wards the clerics were using, but I watched it. After what I went through you can’t simply stand by and do nothing.”

“And what makes you think I _can_?” His magic was strong enough to ward of the clerics around his castle and the lands beyond, but it had a foothold there. It had seeped into the rocks, the trees, the water, even the _people_. The clerics were bold, not stupid. They knew where old magic ran too deep for them to have a hope. Oh, he’d like to believe it, of course. He’d love to be able to take down the monastery and knock the petty queen right off her throne, but he wasn’t sure he could. Not alone. Not without powerful motivation and even more powerful magic at his back.

Of course, powerful motivation was no longer a problem.

“You are Rumpelstiltskin,” Maleficent hissed, looking up. “You are the Dark One. You are the product of the most powerful Dark Magic ever known- and if you want to know why the clerics keep clear, it isn’t because they don’t know what you can do. They _created_ you-”

“The dagger created me!” he snapped, rising.

“And the clerics created the dagger.” Maleficent stayed seated, hands folded in her lap. For all that this woman seemed to bear, she had an eerily calm manner about her that was unnerving, and she looked at him with large, sad eyes as she spoke. “It used to be part of a ritual- the spilling of magical blood, over and over, by the same blade- but eventually they realized that the dagger retained the magic of the blood that spilled over it. It was a powerful tool, and they knew it.”

Rumpelstiltskin froze. There wasn’t much that could shock him after so much time, but hearing that he was a product of the very magic that he scorned, the very magic that could take his Belle away from him forever…

“That can’t be true...”

“Yes. I didn’t know what I had at the time. I knew I had an object of powerful Dark Magic, but only the slightest inkling of what it could do.” Maleficent reached over, grasping his hands in hers, pleading. “You have the magic of centuries in your blood, Rumpelstiltskin. You have a chance against them that no one else has.”

“What about you?” He snatched his hands away quickly. “You know their ways. What about the _creature_ inside you? Why haven’t you tried to stop them before?” 

Maleficent sighed, shoulders slumping.

“I may know their ways… but they also know mine. I was so close to initiation- they found out my every strength, my every weakness, knew exactly how to manipulate me and everything I could do, every limit and every pressure point. I- I wouldn’t stand a chance.” As she spoke a hint of bitterness crept into her voice, or perhaps it was sorrow, or regret.

“And as for the Dragon…” Maleficent flexed her fingers, and for a moment the back of her palm glinted with purple scales, her nails yellow claws. “I found her after my time with the clerics. We exist as one, as best we can, and we help each other to survive… but we have not found a balance of power yet. These things take time, more time than most humans are ever allowed. Interactions leave me weak, and drawing off her power would be too much for me to handle alone… She would try to help, but it would be hopeless with only the two of us there.”

That was the trick, then. She didn’t want to save Belle, or at least that wasn’t her main motivation. What this woman wanted was blood, hot and raw. Measure for measure. Repayment for what was taken. Requital. _Revenge_ … She simply needed his help to do it.

The dagger was all convenience on his part. He had the magic of ages on his side (and he did think that this woman was desperate enough to be trusted on that much of her story) and the clerics had no clue what he could do. They wouldn’t even cross his borders, running far away from the area where his magic had seeped into the land the most, from where the surroundings were attuned to him and his power.

Now was not the time for fear or shock. Now was the time to think, to be the Dark One, to slip on his mask and use it as he always did: to get what he wanted.

And this time what he wanted was Belle.

“So you _need_ me, hm?” Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want, dearie? What do you _really_ want? Revenge? You want to feel the blood of your oppressors flowing over your palms? I can make that happen… for a price.” He could spot someone ready for a deal from mile away, and he smelled one coming.

“Justice,” Maleficent said flatly. “For my life, and the lives of all the ones who came before me. But tell me… why the sudden change of heart?”

“Oh, you flatter me!” He pressed a hand to his chest, feigning surprise. “I have no heart to change. You should know that. Now… tell me the deal.” The Dark One raised his eyebrows, smiling slyly. Maleficent easily dropped into her own façade, her face a mask of calm.

“I’ll help you get your girl out of the monastery… and in return you help me bring it down. Do we have a deal, Dark One?”

“Indeed we do.”

 

X

 

The last time she dreamed, only one man was there waiting.

The man with the pale skin, wearing black robes. The man with the stars in his eyes. He was sitting at a small wooden table with one other chair, and gestured for Belle to sit as well. The castle was still strangely unfamiliar, just enough that she didn’t feel quite comfortable here.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I am known by many names, but those who know me well call me Morpheus.”

Belle felt a shiver pass through her at the sound of his name.

“Why would you tell me that?” she asked. “There’s… that name…”

“It is powerful,” he nodded, black eyes glinting. “That is why you need it. Chiefly, I am here to deliver a message to you from the waking world.”

“The waking world?” Belle raised an eyebrow, slightly confused. She understood well enough that this was a dream, but how could it be possible to simply walk from dreams to reality?

Ah, well. She’d heard worse.

“Yes. Rumpelstiltskin has called in an old debt- one of many between us- and this is the first part of my payment. That’s why a previous version of him inhabits the castle.”

“Rum sent you? But why doesn’t he-”

“There are powerful forces at work. You are shielded from all magic here, in the dungeons, and he fears that by the time they release you from your captivity it will be too late to help you.”

“So… no one can use magic here?”

“Not in the dungeons, no. There are far too many chances for things to go wrong, and the only way to block the magic of the Great Powers that might want to interfere is to block out magic entirely.”

“But… how are you here?” she asked. Surely this was some kind of magic, was it not? Morpheus tilted his head thoughtfully.

“I am not magical. I am _older_ than magic. Since the beginning of the universe itself, I was woven into the fabric of everything that lives and breathes and dreams, in every world that there is, and I will be here until the last dreamer dies. I am Dream of the Endless. Magic of this world has no jurisdiction over my kind.” Morpheus sat back in the tall chair, waiting on Belle’s response.

“Are you going to get me out?” she asked, almost scared of the answer.

Scared he would say no.

“I cannot, not without permanent damage to your mind… but you can.” he said, hair falling over his eyes. “With a little help from my sister.”

“Who’s your sister?” Belle could think properly now that the pain was gone, though she knew it would be much worse when she dropped back into her body.

“Death.” He smirked at her suddenly stiff posture. “Don’t worry- you won’t die. At least… not permanently. We just need a little bit of a distraction, and my sister needs to talk to you.”

“How do you meet _death_?” Belle asked, astounded.

“The same way you meet Dream.” Morpheus looked at her very pointedly, very _calmly_ , and a cold chill ran through her body. She met Dream by dreaming. So in order to meet Death…

“They’ve already tried-” Belle protested, but he cut her off.

“No, they have not. They’ve brought you to the brink and then used their powers to pull you back from the edge. That is not death- that is a cheap imitation.”

Belle stared at him for a long while- minutes or hours passed as she considered- before she finally nodded. Certainly anything was better than being a slave to the dark magic that ruled the clerics for the rest of her life.

“Get them to kill you,” Morpheus said slowly, “And then when you feel the world start to fade, reach out your hand.”

So she did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, first of all I want to say I'm super sorry this took so long, and I really don't have an excuse (apart from that one time I lost my flash drive for a month and my muse was dead, BUT STILL A BAD EXCUSE), so if you're still reading thank you so so so much. Second of all I wanted to say that if you were getting Mord'Sith vibes from the torture scene, you were right on top of where my inspiration was.
> 
> Also, as always, thanks to Robynne (roberre) for beta-ing. She's absolutely amazing and her comments are the best things ever (basic reaction to this chapter: "Evil, but still good. TEN POINTS FOR SLYTHERIN").


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